UC-NRLF 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY 


BY 


PHILIP  MASSINGER  AND 
NATHANIEL    FIELD 


CHARLES  LACY  LOCKERT,  Jr. 


EXCHANGE 


THE    FATAL    DOWRY 


BY 


PHILIP    MASSINGER    AND 
NATHANIEL    FIELD 


EDITED,    FROM    THE   ORIGINAL   QUARTO. 
WITH    INTRODUCTION   AND    NOTES 


A  DISSERTATION 

presented  to  the 
Faculty  of  Princeton  University 
IN  Candidacy  for  the  Degree 
of  Doctor  of  Philosophy 


BY 


CHARLES  LACY  LOCKERT,  Jr. 

ASSISTANT   PROFESSOR    OF    ENGLISH,    KENYON   COLLEGE 


PRfSS  OF 

THE  NEW  ERA  PRINTING  COMPANY 

LANCAiiTER,  PA. 

I918 


Accepted  by  the  Department  of  English,  June,  1916 


^       PREFACE 

This  critical  edition  of  The  Fatal  Dowry  was  undertaken  as 
a  Thesis  in  partial  fulfilment  of  the  requirements  for  the  de- 
gree of  Ph.D.  at  Princeton  University.  It  was  compiled  under 
the  guidance  and  direction  of  Professor  T.  M.  Parrott  of  that 
institution,  and  every  page  of  it  is  indebted  to  him  for  suggestion, 
advice,  and  criticism.  I  can  but  inadequately  indicate  the  scope 
of  his  painstaking  and  scholarly  supervision,  and  can  even  less 
adequately  express  my  appreciation  of  his  ever-patient  aid,  which 
alone  made  this  work  possible. 

I  desire  also  to  acknowledge  my  debt  to  Professor  J.  Duncan 
Spaeth  of  Princeton  University,  for  his  valuable  suggestions  in 
regard  to  the  presentation  of  my  material,  notably  in  the  Intro- 
duction ;  also  to  Professor  T.  W.  Baldwin  of  Muskingum  College 
and  Mr.  Henry  Bowman,  both  of  them  then  fellow  graduate 
students  of  mine  at  Princeton,  for  assistance  on  several  occasions 
in  matters  of  special  inquiry;  and  to  Dr.  M.  W.  Tyler  of  the 
Princeton  Department  of  History  for  directing  me  in  clearing  up 
a  lego-historical  point;  and  finally  to  the  libraries  of  Yale  and 
Columbia  Universities  for  their  kind  loan  of  needed  books. 


37Glij: 


INTRODUCTION 

In  the  Stationer's  Register  the  following  entry  is  recorded 
under  the  date  of  "30°  Martij   1632:" 

CONSTABLE  Entred  for  his  copy  vnder  the  hands  of  Sir 
HENRY  HERBERT  and  master  SMITHWICKE  war- 
den a  Tragedy  called  the  ffatall  Dowry.  Vj  d. 

In  the  year  1632  was  published  a  quarto  volume  whose  title- 
page  was  inscribed:  The  Fatall  Dowry:  a  Tragedy:  As  it  hath 
been  often  Acted  at  the  Private  House  in  Blackfriars,  by  his 
Majesties  Servants.  Written  by  P.  M.  and  N.  F.  London, 
Printed  by  John  Norton,  for  Francis  Constable,  and  are  to  be 
sold  at  his  shop  at  the  Crane,  in  Pauls  Churchyard.     1632. 

That  the  initials  by  which  the  authors  are  designated  stand  for 
PhiHp  Massinger  and  Nathaniel  Field  is  undoubted. 

Later  Texts 

There  is  no  other  seventeenth  century  edition  of  The  Fatal 
Dowry.  It  was  included  in  various  subsequent  collections,  as 
follows : 

I.  The  Works  of  Philip  Massinger — edited  by  Thomas  Coxeter, 

1759 — re-issued  in  1761,  with  an  introduction  by  T.  Davies. 

II.  The  Dramatic  Works  of  Philip  Massinger — edited  by  John 

Monck  Mason,  1779. 

III.  The  Plays  of  Philip  Massinger — edited  by  William  Gifford, 

1805.  There  was  a  revised  second  edition  in  1813,  which 
is  still  regarded  as  the  Standard  Massinger  Text,  and  was 
followed  in  subsequent  editions  of  Gifford. 

IV.  Modern  British  Drama — edited  by  Sir  Walter  Scott,  181 1. 

The  text  of  this  reprint  of  The  Fatal  Dowry  is  Gififord's. 

V.  Dramatic  Works  of  Massinger  and  Ford^tdited  by  Hartley 

Coleridge,  1840  (et  seq.).    This  follows  the  text  of  Gifford. 

VI.  The  Plays  of  Philip  Massinger.     From  the  Text  of  William 

Gifford.  With  the  Addition  of  the  Tragedy  Believe  as 
You  List.     Edited  by  Francis  Cunningham,  1-867  (^^  seq.). 

1 


/ 


2  ''  -Vl^iS' FATAL   DOWRY 

The  Fatal  Dowry  in  this  edition,  as  in  the  preceding,  is  a 
mere  reprint  of  the  Second  Edition  of  Gifford. 
VII.    Philip    Massinger.      Selected    Plays.      (Mermaid    Series.) 
Edited  by  Arthur  Symons,  1887-9  {et  seq.). 

In  addition  to  the  above.  The  Fatal  Dowry  appeared  in  The 
Plays  of  Philip  Massinger,  adapted  for  family  reading  and  the 
use  of  young  persons,  by  the  omission  of  objectionable  passages, 
— edited  by  Harness,  1 830-1 ;  and  another  expurgated  version 
was  printed  in  the  Mirror  of  Taste  and  Dramatic  Censor,  1810. 
Both  of  these  are  based  on  the  text  of  Gifford. 

The  edition  of  Coxeter  is  closest  of  all  to  the  Quarto,  follow- 
ing even  many  of  its  most  palpable  mistakes,  and  adding  some 
blunders  on  its  own  account.  Mason  accepts  practically  all  of 
Coxeter's  corrections,  and  supplies  a  great  many  more  variants 
himself,  not  all  of  which  are  very  happy.  Both  these  eighteenth' 
century  editors  continually  contract  for  the  sake  of  securing 
a  perfectly  regular  metre  (e.  g. :  You're  for  You  are,  I,  i,  139; 
th'  honours  for  the  honours,  I,  ii,  35;  etc.),  while  Gifford's  tend- 
ency is  to  give  the  full  form  for  even  the  contractions  of  the 
Quarto,  changing  its  'em's  to  them's,  etc.  Gifford  can  scarce 
find  words  sharp  enough  to  express  his  scorn  for  his  predecessors 
in  their  lack  of  observance  of  the  text  of  the  Quarto,  yet  he  him- 
self frequently  repeats  their  gratuitous  emendations  when  the 
original  was  a  perfectly  sure  guide,  and  he  has  almost  a  mania 
for  tampering  with  the  Quarto  on  his  own  account.  Symons' 
Mermaid  text,  while  based  essentially  on  that  of  Gif¥ord,  in  a 
number  of  instances  departs  from  it,  sometimes  to  make  further 
emendations,  but  more  often  to  go  back  from  those  of  GiiTord  to 
the  version  of  the  original,  so  that  on  the  whole  this  is  the  best 
text  yet  published. 

There  has  been  a  German  translation  by  the  Graf  von  Baudis- 
son,  under  the  title  of  Die  Unselige  Mitgift,  in  his  Ben  Jonson 
und  seine  Schule,  Leipsig,  1836;  and  a  French  translation,  in 
prose,  under  the  title  of  La  dot  fatale  by  E.  Lafond  in  Contem- 
porains  de  Shakespeare,  Paris,  1864. 

Date 

The  date  of  the  composition  or  original  production  of  The 
Fatal  Dowry  is  not  known.     The  Quarto  speaks  of  it  as  having 


INTRODUCTION  6 

been  "often  acted,"  so  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  our  supposing  that 
it  came  into  existence  many  years  before  its  publication.  It  does 
not  seem  to  have  been  entered  in  Sir  Henry  Herbert's  Office 
Book.^  This  would  indicate  its  appearance  to  have  been  prior  to 
Herbert's  assumption  of  the  duties  of  his  office  in  August,  1623. 
In  seeking  a  more  precise  date  we  can  deal  only  in  probabilities.^ 

1  Fleay  (Chron.  Eng.  Dra.,  I,  208)  thinks  that  the  otherwise  lost  Mas- 
singer  play,  The  Judge,  licensed  by  Herbert  in  1627,  and  included  in  the 
list  of  Warburton's  collection,  may  have  been  The  Fatal  Dowry.  He 
declares,  moreover,  that  "  the  decree  in  favor  of  creditors  in  I,  ii  a  was 
a  statute  made  in  1623,"  and  suggests  that  Massinger  after  this  date  made 
over  an  independent  play  of  Field's,  now  lost.  But  I  think  that  any  one 
who  surveys  in  The  Fatal  Dozvry  the  respective  hands  of  its  authors  will 
incline  strongly  to  the  conviction  that  this  drama  is  the  offspring  of  joint 
effort  rather  than  the  re-handling  of  one  man's  work  by  another.  The 
decree  to  which  Fleay  has  reference  appears  to  be  that  to  be  found  in 
Statutes  of  the  Realm,  IV,  ii,  1227-9,  recorded  as  21°  Jac  I,  19.  This  is 
an  act  passed  by  the  parliament  of  1623-4;  it  somewhat  increases  the 
stringency  of  the  already-existing  severe  laws  in  regard  to  bankrupts,  but 
contains  nothing  which  even  faintly  suggests  the  decree  in  our  play,  by 
which  the  creditors  are  empowered  to  withhold  the  corpse  of  their  debtor 
from  burial;  and,  indeed,  it  is  obviously  impossible  that  a  statute  per- 
mitting any  such  practice  could  have  been  passed  in  Christian  England 
of  the  seventeenth  century.  The  fact  is  that  this  feature  of  the  plot  is 
taken  direct  from  a  classical  author  (see  under  Sources),  and  it  would 
be  gratuitous  to  assume  in  it  a  reference  to  contemporaneous  legislation. 
As  for  the  hypothesis  that  The  Fatal  Dowry  and  The  Judge  are  the  same 
play,  in  the  utter  absence  of  any  supporting  evidence  it  must  be  thrown 
out  of  court.  This  sort  of  identification  is  a  confirmed  vice  with  Fleay. 
The  Judge  is,  moreover,  listed  as  a  comedy  (see  reprint  of  Warburton's 
list  in  Fleay's  The  Life  and  Work  of  Shakespeare,  p.  358). 

2  Two  other  arguments — both  fallacious — have  been  advanced  for  a 
more  assured  dating. 

Formal  prologues  and  epilogues  came  into  fashion  about  1620,  and  the 
absence  of  such  appendages  in  the  case  of  The  Fatal  Dowry  has  been 
generally  taken  as  evidence  for  its  appearance  before  that  year;  but  for 
a  Massinger  production  no  such  mference  can  be  drawn — there  is  no 
formal  prologue  or  epilogue  in  any  of  his  extant  plays  before  The  Emperor 
of  the  East  and  Believe  as  You  List,  which  were  licensed  for  acting  in 
163 1. 

The  suggestion  (Fleay:  Chron.  Eng.  Dra.,  I,  p.  208)  that  Field  took 
the  part  of  Florimel,  and  that  the  mention  of  her  age  as  thirty-two  years 
(II,  ii,  17)  has  reference  to  his  own  age  at  the  time  the  play  was  pro- 
duced (thus  fixing  the  date:  1619),  is  an  idea  so  far-fetched  and  fantastic 
that  it  is  amazing  to  find  it  quoted  with  perfect  gravity  by  Ward   (Hist. 


4  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

The  play  having  been  produced  by  the  King's  Men,  a  company 
in  which  Field  acted,  it  was  most  probably  written  during  his 
association  therewith.  This  was  formed  in  1616;  the  precise 
date  of  his  retirement  from  the  stage  is  not  known.  His  name 
appears  in  the  patent  of  March  27,  1619,  just  after  the  death  of 
Burbage,  and  again  and  for  the  last  time  in  a  Hvery  list  for  his 
Majesty's  Servants,  dated  May  19,  1619.  It  is  absent  from  the 
next  grant  for  livery  (1621)  and  from  the  actors'  lists  for  various 
plays  which  are  assigned  to  161 9  or  1620.  We  may  therefore 
assume  safely  that  his  connection  with  the  stage  ended  before  the 
close  of  1619.  On  the  basis  of  probability,  then,  the  field  is  nar- 
rowed to  1616-19.* 

More  or  less  presumptive  evidence  may  be  adduced  for  a  yet 
more  specific  dating.  During  these  years  that  Field  acted  with 
the  King's  Men,  two  plays  appeared  which  bear  strong  internal, 
evidence  of  being  products  of  his  collaboration  with  Massinger 
and  Fletcher :  The  Knight  of  Malta  and  The  Queen  of  Corinth. 
While  several  parallels  of  phraseology  are  afforded  for  The  Fatal 
Dowry  by  these  (as,  indeed,  by  every  one  of  the  works  of  Mas- 
singer)  they  are  not  nearly  so  numerous  or  so  striking  as  simi- 
larities discoverable  between  it  and  certain  other  dramas  of  the 
Massinger  corpus.  With  none  does  the  connection  seem  so  in- 
timate as  with  The  Unnatural  Combat.  Both  plays  open  with  a 
scene  in  which  a  young  suppliant  for  a  father's  cause  is  counseled, 
in  passages  irresistibly  reminiscent  of  each  other,  to  lay  aside 
pride  and  modesty  for  the  parent's  sake,  because  not  otherwise 
can  justice  be  gained,  and  it  is  the  custom  of  the  age  to  sue  for  it 
shamelessly.     Moreover,  the  offer  by  Beaufort  and  his  associates 

Eng.  Dra.  Lit.,  Ill,  39).  That  Field,  second  only  to  Burbage  among  the 
actors  of  his  time,  should  have  played  the  petty  role  of  Florimel  is  a 
ridiculous  supposition.  It  is  strange  that  anyone  who  considered  refer- 
ences of  this  sort  a  legitimate  clue  did  not  build  rather  upon  the  statement 
(II,  i,  13)  that  Charalois  was  twenty-eight.  But  such  grounds  for 
theorizing  are  utterly  unsubstantial;  there  is  no  earthly  warrant  for 
identifying  the  age  of  an  author's  creation  with  the  age  of  the  author 
himself. 

3  I  would  not,  however,  think  it  very  improbable  that  Field  might  have 
engaged  in  the  composition  of  The  Fatal  Dowry  immediately  after  his 
retirement,  when  the  ties  with  his  old  profession  were,  perhaps,  not  yet 
altogether  broken. 


INTRODUCTION  5 

to  Malefort  of  any  boon  he  may  desire  as  a  recompense  for  his 
service,  and  his  acceptance  of  it,  correspond  strikingly  in  both 
conduct  and  language  with  the  conferring  of  a  like  favor  upon 
Rochfort  by  the  Court  (I,  ii,  258  f¥.)  ;  while  the  request  which 
Malefort  prefers,  that  his  daughter  be  married  to  Beaufort  Junior, 
and  the  language  with  which  that  young  man  acknowledges  this 
meets  his  own  dearest  wish,  bear  a  no  less  patent  resemblance  to 
the  bestowal  of  Beaumelle  upon  Charalois  (II,  ii,  284-297).  Now 
this  last  parallel  is  sigriificant,  because  The  Unnatural  Combat  is 
an  unaided  production  of  Massinger,  while  the  analogue  in  The 
Fatal  Dowry  occurs  in  a  scene  that  is  by  the  hand  of  Field.  The 
similarity  may,  of  course,  be  only  an  accident,  but  presumably  it 
is  not.  Then  did  Field  borrow  from  Massinger,  or  did  Mas- 
singer  from  Field?  The  most  plausible  theory  is  that  The  Un- 
.  natural  Combat  was  written  immediately  after  The  Fatal  Dowry, 
when  Massinger's  mind  was  so  saturated  with  the  contents  of  the 
tragedy  just  laid  aside  that  he  was  liable  to  echo  in  the  new  drama 
the  expressions  and  import  of  Hnes  in  the  old,  whether  by  himself 
or  his  collaborator.  That  at  any  rate  the  chronological  relation- 
ship of  the  two  plays  is  one  of  juxtaposition  is  further  attested  by 
the  fact  that  in  minor  parallelisms,*  too,  to  The  Fatal  Dowry,  The 
Unnatural  Combat  is  richer  than  any  other  work  of  Massinger. 
Unfortunately  The  Unnatural  Combat  is  itself  another  play  of 
whose  date  no  more  can  be  said  with  assurance  than  that  it  pre- 
ceeds  the  entry  of  Sir  Henry  Herbert  into  office  in  1623,  though 
its  crude  horrors,  its  ghost,  etc.,  suggest  moreover  that  it  is  its 
author's  initial  independent  venture  in  the  field  of  tragedy,  his 
Titus  Andronicus,  an  ill-advised  attempt  to  produce  something 
after  the  "grand  manner"  of  half  a  generation  back.  Next  in 
closeness  to  The  Fatal  Dozvry  among  the  works  of  Massinger  as 
regards  the  number  of  its  reminiscences  of  phraseology  stands  his 
share  of  The  Virgin  Martyr;  next  in  closeness  as  regards  the 

*0n  a  careful  inspection  of  the  entire  dramatic  output  of  Massinger, 
both  unaided  work  and  plays  done  in  collaboration,  I  have  found  worthy  of 
record  parallels  to  passages  in  The  Fatal  Dowry  to  the  number  of :  24,  in 
The  Unnatural  Combat,  14  in  the  Massinger  share  (about  %)  of  The  Virgin 
Martyr,  18  in  The  Renegade,  11  in  The  Duke  of  Milan,  10  in  The  Guardian, 
and  in  none  of  the  rest  as  many  as  8. — But  Massinger's  undoubted  share 
{%)  of  The  Little  French  Lawyer  yields  6;  %  of  The  Double  Marriage, 
6;  ?5  of  The  Spanish  Curate,  6;  %  of  Sir  John  van  Olden  Barnavelt,  4 


b  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

strikingness  of  these  parallels  stands  his   share  of   The  Little 
French  Lawyer.     These  two  plays  can  be  dated  circa  1620. 

To  sum  up : 

The  Fatal  Dowry  appears  to  antedate  the  installation  of  Sir 
Henry  Herbert  in  1623. 

It  was  probably  written  while  Field  was  with  the  King's  Men ; 
with  whom  he  became  associated  in  1616,  and  whom  he  probably 
quitted  in  1619. 

The  indications  point  to  its  composition  during  the  latter  part 
of  this  three-year  period  (1616-19),  for  it  yields  more  and 
closer  parallels  to  The  Virgin  Martyr  and  The  Little  French 
Lawyer,  dated  about  1620,  than  to  The  Knight  of  Malta  and  The 
Queen  of  Corinth,  dated  1617-8, — closer,  indeed,  than  to  any, 
work  of  Massinger  save  one,  The  Unnatural  Combat,  itself  an 
undated  but  evidently  early  play,  with  which  its  relationship  is 
clearly  of  the  most  intimate  variety. 

The  following  (at  best  hazardously  conjectural)  scheme  of 
sequence  may  be  advanced : 

Fletcher  and  Massinger  and  Field  together  wrote  The  Knight 
of  Malta  and  The  Queen  of  Corinth — according  to  received 
theory,  in  1617  or  1618.  Thereafter,  the  last  two  collaborators 
(desirous,  perhaps,  of  trying  what  they  could  do  unaided  and 
unshackled  by  the  dominating  association  of  the  chief  dramatist 
of  the  day)  joined  hands  in  the  production  of  the  tragedy  which 
is  the  subject  of  our  study.  Then,  upon  Field's  retirement,  Mas- 
singer struck  off,  with  The  Unnatural  Combat,  into  unassisted 
composition ;  but  we  next  find  him,  whether  because  he  recognized 
the  short-comings  of  this  turgid  play  or  for  other  reasons,  again 
in  double  harness,  at  work  upon  The  Virgin  Martyr  and  The 
Little  French  Lawyer,  On  this  hypothesis.  The  Fatal  Dowry 
would  be  dated  1618-9. 

Sources 

No  source  is  known  for  the  main  plot  of  The  Fatal  Dowry.  A 
Spanish  original  has  been  suspected,  but  it  has  never  come  to 
light.  The  stress  laid  throughout  the  action  on  that  peculiarly 
Spanish  conception  of  "the  point  of  honor"  (see  under  Critical 


INTRODUCTION  7 

Estimate,  in  consideration  of  the  character  of  Charalois)  is  un- 
questionably suggestive  of  the  land  south  of  the  Pyrenees,  and 
we  have  an  echo  of  Don  Quixote  in  the  exclamation  of  Charalois 
(III,  i,  441)  :  "Away,  thou  curious  impertinent."  The  identifica- 
tion, however,  of  the  situation  at  Aymer's  house  in  IV,  ii  with  a 
scene  in  Cervantes'  El  vie  jo  celoso  (Obras  Completas  De  Cer- 
vantes, Tomo  XII,  p.  277)  is  extremely  fanciful.  The  only  simi- 
larity consists  in  the  circumstance  that  in  both,  while  the  husband 
is  on  the  stage,  the  wif>,  who,  unknown  to  him,  entertains  a  lover 
in  the  next  room,  is  heard  speaking  within.  But  this  is  a  spon- 
taneous outcry  on  the  part  of  Beaumelle,  who  does  not  suspect 
the  proximity  of  her  husband,  and  her  discovery  follows,  and 
from  this  the  denouement  of  the  play;  whereas  in  Cervantes' 
entr ernes  the  wife  deliberately  calls  in  bravado  to  her  niece,  who 
is  also  on-stage,  and  boasts  of  her  lover, — and  the  husband  thinks 
this  is  in  jest,  and  nothing  comes  of  it  but  comedy. 

The  theme  of  the  son's  redemption  of  his  father's  corpse  by  his 
own  captivity  is  from  the  classical  story  of  Cimon  and  Miltiades, 
as  narrated  by  Valerius  Maximus,  De  dictis  factisque  memorabil- 
ibus,  etc.  Lib.  V,  cap.  III.  De  ingratis  externorum :  Bene  egissent 
Athenienses  cum  Miltiade,  si  eum  post  trecenta  millia  Persarum 
Marathone  devicta,  in  exilium  protinus  misissent,  ac  non  in  car- 
cere  et  vinculis  mori  coegissent;  sed,  ut  puto,  hactenus  saevire 
adversus  optime  meritum  abunde  duxerunt:  imimo  ne  corpus  qui- 
dem  eius,  sic  expirare  coacti  sepulturae  primus  mandari  passi 
sunt,  quam  filius  eius  Cimon  eisdem  vinculis  se  constrigendum 
traderet.  Hanc  hereditatem  paternam  maximal  duci\s  filius,  et  fu- 
turus  ipse  aetatis  suae  dux  maximus,  solam  se  crevisse,  catenas  et 
carcerem,  gloriari  potuit. 

In  the  version  of  Cornelius  Nepos  (Vitae,  Cimon  I)  Cimon  is 
incarcerated  against  his  will. 

The  action  of  the  play  is  given  the  historical  setting  of  the  later 
fifteenth  century  wars  of  Louis  XI  of  France  and  Charles  the 
Bold  of  Burgundy,  although  this  background  is  extremely  hazy. 
The  hero's  name  is.  the  title  which  Charles  bore  while  heir-ap- 
parent to  the  Duchy  of  Burgundy ;  mention  is  made  of  Charles 
himself  ("The  warlike  Charloyes,"  I,  ii,  171),  to  Louis  ("the 
subtill  Fox  of  France,  The  poHtique  Lewis,"  I,  ii,  123-4),  and  to 
"the-more  desperate  Swisse  "  (I,  ii,  124),  against  whom  Charles 


8  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

lost  his  life  and  the  power  of  Burgundy  was  broken;  while  the 
three  great  defeats  he  suffered  at  their  hands,  Granson,  Morat, 
Nancy,  are  named  in  I,  ii,  170.  Shortly  after  these  disasters  the 
events  which  the  play  sets  forth  must  be  supposed  to  occur ;  the 
parliament  by  which  in  our  drama  Dijon  is  governed  was  estab- 
lished by  Louis  XI  when  he  annexed  Burgundy  in  1477  ^^^ 
thereby  abolished  her  ducal  independence. 

Collaboration 

It  is  doubtful  if  Massinger  ever  collaborated  with  any  author 
whose  manner  harmonized  as  well  with  his  own  as  did  Field's. 
In  his  partnership  with  Decker  in  The  Virgin  Martyr,  the 
alternate  hands  of  the  two  dramatists  afford  a  weird  contrast.^ 
His  union  with  Fletcher  was  less  incongruous,  but  Fletcher  was 
too  much  inclined  to  take  the  bit  between  his  teeth  to  be  a  com- 
fortable companion  in  double  harness,^  and  at  all  times  his  vola- 
tile, prodigal  genius  paired  ill  with  the  earnest,  painstaking,  not 
over-poetic  moralist.  But  in  Field  Massinger  found  an  associate 
whose  connection  with  himself  was  not  only  congenial,  but  even 
beneficial,  to  the  end  that  together  they  could  achieve  certain  re- 
sults of  which  either  was  individually  incapable;  just  as  it  has 
been  estabHshed  was  the  case  in  the  Middleton-Rowley  collabora- 
tion. To  a  formal  element  of  verse  different,  indeed,  from  Mas- 
singer's,  but  not  obtrusively  so,  a  certain  moral  fibre  of  his  own 
(perhaps  derived  from  his  clerical  antecedents),  and  a  like  famili- 
arity with  stage  technique,  Field  added  qualities  which  Massinger 
notably  lacked,  and  thereby  complemented  him :  a  light  and  vig- 
orous (if  sometimes  coarse)  comic  touch  as  opposed  to  Mas- 
singer's  cumbrous  humor;  a  freshness  and  first-hand  acquaint- 
ance with  life  as  opposed  to  Massinger's  bookishness ;  a  capacity 

^  E.  g.,  I,  i  (Massinger)  with  its  grave  rhetoric  uniformly  sustained, 
and,  in  immediate  succession,  II,  i  (Decker),  a  medley  of  coarse  buf- 
foonery and  tender  and  beautiful  verse. 

6  As  witness  The  False  One.  Here  Massinger  seems  to  have  projected 
a  stately  historical  drama  of  war  and  factional  intrigue,  with  a  concep- 
tion of  Cleopatra  as  the  Great  Queen,  more  a  Semiramis  or  a  Zenobia 
than  "the  serpent  of  old  Nile,"  and  so  treats  his  subject  in  the  first  and 
last  Acts;  while  Fletcher  "assists"  him  by  filling  the  middle  section  of 
the  play  with  scenes  theatrically  effective  but  leading  nowhere,  and  in 
them  makes  the  heroine  the  traditional  "gipsy"  Cleopatra. 


INTRODUCTION  9 

to  visualize  and  individualize  character  as  opposed  to  Massinger's 
weakness  for  drawing  types  rather  than  people.  The  fruit  of 
their  joint  endeavors  testifies  to  a  harmonious,  conscientious,  and 
mutually  respecting  partnership. 

In  consideration  of  the  above,  it  is  surprising  how  substantially 
in  accord  are  most  of  the  opinions  that  have  been  expressed  con- 
cerning the  share  of  the  play  written  by  each  author. 

"A  critical  reader,"  says  Monck  Mason,  "will  perceive  that 
Rochfort  and  Charalois-  speak  a  different  language  in  the  Second 
and  Third  Acts,  from  that  which  they  speak  in  the  first  and  last, 
which  are  undoubtedly  Massinger's ;  as  is  also  Part  of  the  Fourth 
Act,  but  not  the  whole  of  it." 

Dr.  Ireland,  in  a  postscript  to  the  text  of  The  Fatal  Dozvry  in 
Gifford's  edition,  agrees  with  Mason  in  assigning  the  Second  Act 
to  Field  and  also  the  First  Scene  of  the  Fourth  Act;  the  Third 
Act,  however,  he  claims  for  Massinger,  as  well  as  that  share  of 
the  play  with  which  Mason  credits  him.  Fleay  and  Boyle,  the 
chief  modern  commentators  who  have  taken  up  the  question  of 
the  division  of  authorship  with  the  aid  of  metrical  tests  and  other 
criteria,  agree  fairly  well  with  the  speculations  of  their  less  scien- 
tific predecessors,  and  adopt  an  intermediate,  reconciling  position 
on  the  disputed  Third  Act,  dividing  it  between  the  two  dramatists.'' 

Boyle  (Englische  Studien,  V,  94)  assigns  to  Massinger  Act  I ; 
Act  III  as  far  as  line  316;  Act  IV,  Scenes  ii,  iii,  and  iv;  and  the 
whole  of  Act  V,  with  the  exception  of  Scene  ii,  lines  80-120, 
which  he  considers  an  interpolation  of  Field,  whom  he  also  be- 
lieves to  have  revised  the  latter  part  of  I,  ii  (from  Exeunt  Officers 
with  Romont  to  end). 

Fleay  (Chron.  Eng.  Dra.,  I,  208)  exactly  agrees  with  this 
division  save  that  the  latter  part  of  I,  ii,  which  Boyle  believes 
emended  by  Field,  he  assigns  to  that  author  outright ;  and  that  he 
places  the  division  in  Act  III  twenty-seven  lines  later  (Field  after 
Manent  Char.  Rom.). 

■^  The  only  other  modern  attempt  to  apportion  the  play  is  that  of  C. 
Beck  {The  Fatal  Dowry,  Friedrich-Alexander  Univ.  thesis,  1906,  pp.  89- 
94).  He  assigns  Massinger  everything  except  the  prose  passages  of  II, 
ii  and  IV,  i,  and  perhaps  II,  i,  93-109.  His  a  priori  theory  of  distribution 
seems  to  be  that  all  portions  of  the  play  which  he  deems  of  worth  must 
be  Massinger's.  It  is  difficult  to  speak  of  Beck's  monograph  with  suffi- 
ciently scant  respect. 


10  THE    FATAL    DOWRY 

In  my  own  investigation  I  have  used  for  each  Scene  the  fol- 
lowing tests  to  distinguish  the  hands  of  the  two  authors : 

(a)  Broad  aesthetic  considerations:  the  comparison  of  style 
and  method  of  treatment  with  the  known  work  of  either  dramatist. 

(b)  The  test  of  parallel  phrases.  Massinger's  habit  of  repeat- 
ing himself  is  notorious.  I  have  gone  through  the  entire  body  of 
his  work,  both  that  which  appears  under  his  name,  and  that  which 
has  been  assigned  to  him  by  modern  research  in  the  Beaumont  & 
Fletcher  plays,  and  noted  all  expressions  I  found  analogous  to 
any  which  occur  in  The  Fatal  Dowry.  I  have  done  the  same  for 
Field's  work,  examining  his  two  comedies.  Woman  is  a  Weather- 
cock and  Amends  for  Ladies,  and  Acts  I  and  V  of  The  Knight  of 
Malta  and  III  and  IV  of  The  Queen  of  Corinth,  which  the  con- 
sensus of  critical  opinion  recognizes  (in  my  judgment,  correctly) 
as  his.  He  is  generally  believed  to  have  collaborated  also  in  The 
Honest  Man's  Fortune,  but  the  exact  extent  of  his  work  therein 
is  so  uncertain  that  I  have  not  deemed  it  a  proper  field  from 
which  to  adduce  evidence.  His  hand  has  been  asserted  by  one 
authority  or  another  to  appear  in  various  other  plays  of  the 
period,  he  having  served,  as  it  were,  the  role  of  a  literary  scape- 
goat on  whom  it  was  convenient  to  father  any  Scene  not  identified 
as  belonging  to  Beaumont,  Fletcher,  or  Massinger ;  but  there  is  no 
convincing  evidence  for  his  participation  in  the  composition  of 
any  extant  dramas  save  the  above  named. 

(c)  Metrical  tests.  I  have  computed  the  figures  for  The  Fatal 
Dowry  in  regard  to  double  or  feminine  endings  and  run-on  lines. 
Massinger's  verse  displays  high  percentages  (normally  30  per 
cent,  to  45  per  cent.)  in  the  case  of  either.  Field's  verse  varies 
considerably  in  the  matter  of  run-on  lines  at  various  periods  of 
his  life,  but  the  proportion  of  them  is  always  smaller  than  Mas- 
singer's. His  double  endings  average  about  18  per  cent.  I  have 
also  counted  in  each  Scene  the  number  of  speeches  that  end  within 
the  line,  and  that  end  with  the  line,  respectively.  (Speeches  end- 
ing with  fragmentary  lines  are  considered  to  have  mid-line  end- 
ings.) This  is  declared  by  Oliphant  (Eng.  Studien,  XIV,  y2) 
the  surest  test  for  the  work  of  Massinger.  "  His  percentage  of 
speeches,"  he  says,  "that  end  where  the  verses  end  is  ordinarily 
as  low  as  15."    This  is  a  tremendous  exaggeration,  but  it  is  true 


INTRODUCTION  11 

that  the  ratio  of  mid-Hne  endings  is  much  higher  in  Massinger 
than  in  any  of  his  contemporaries — commonly  2:1,  or  higher. 

We  find  the  First  Scene  of  Act  I  one  of  those  skillful  introduc- 
tions to  the  action  which  the  "  stage-poet "  knew  so  well  how  to 
handle,  for  which  reason,  probably,  he  was  generally  intrusted 
with  the  initial  Scene  of  the  plays  in  which  he  collaborated. 
Thoroughly  Massingerian  are  its  satire  upon  the  degenerate  age 
and  its  grave,  measured  style,  rhetorical  where  it  strives  to  be 
passionate,  and  replete  with  characteristic  expressions.  Especially 
striking  examples  of  the  dramatist's  well-known  and  never-failing 
penchant  for  the  recurrent  use  of  certain  ideas  and  phrases  are : 
As  I  could  run  the  hazard  of  a  check  for't.  (1.  10) — cf.  ^C-G.  87  b, 
156  b,  327  b  ;  D.  V,  328 ;  XI,  28 ; — You  shall  overcome.  (1.  loi )  — 
cf.  C-G.  230  b,  248  b,  392  a ; —  and  11.  183-7 — cf.  C-G.  206  a,  63  a, 
91  a,  134  b.  The  correspondence  between  11.  81-99  and  the 
opening  of  The  Unnatural  Combat  has  already  been  remarked 
on,  while  further  reminiscences  of  the  same  passage  are  to  be 
found  elsewhere  in  Massinger  (C-G.  104  a,  195  b).  Metrical 
tests  show  for  the  Scene  33  per  cent,  double  endings  and  29  per 
cent,  run-on  lines,  figures  which  substantiate  the  conclusions 
derivable  from  a  scrutiny  of  its  style  and  content.^ 

In  I,  ii  Massinger  appears  in  his  element,  an  episode  permitting 
opportunities  for  the  forensic  fervor  which  was  his  especial  forte. 
Such  Scenes  occur  again  and  again  in  his  plays :  the  conversion 
of  the  daughters  of  Theophilus  by  the  Virgin  Martyr,  the  plea  of 
the  Duke  of  Milan  to  the  Emperor,  of  old  Malefort  to  his  judges 
in  The  Unnatural  Combat,  of  Antiochus  to  the  Carthagenian 
senate  in  Believe  as  You  List.     From  the  speech  with  which  Du 

^  References  to  the  plays  of  Massinger  are  either  by  page  and  column 
of  the  Cunningham-Gifford  edition  of  his  works  (designated  C-G.),  or,  in 
the  case  of  plays  in  the  Beaumont  &  Fletcher  corpus  in  which  he  or  Field 
collaborated,  by  volume  and  page  of  the  Dyce  edition  (designated  D.). 
Field's  two  independent  comedies  are  referred  to  by  page  of  the  Mermaid 
Series  volume  which  contains  them:  Nero  and  Other  Plays  (desig- 
nated M.). 

9  The  figures  for  the  speech-ending  test  for  each  scene  will  be  found  in 
the  table  at  the  end  of  this  section,  and  are  not  given  in  the  course  of  the 
detailed  examination  of  the  play,  save  in  the  case  of  one  passage,  where 
the  ambiguity  of  their  testimony  is  noted.  In  all  other  Scenes  they  merely 
corroborate  the  evidence  of  the  other  tests. 


12  THE    FATAL    DOWRY 

Croy  opens  court  (I,  ii,  1-3) — cf.  the  inauguration  of  the  senate- 
house  scene  in  The  Roman  Actor,  C-G.  197  b, 

Fathers  conscript,  may  this  our  meeting  he 
Happy  to  Caesar  and  the  commonwealth! 

— to  the  very  end,  it  abounds  with  Massingerisms :  Knotmng 
judgment;  Speak  to  the  cause;  I  foresaw  this  (an  especial  favorite 
of  the  poet's)  ;  Strange  boldness! ;  the  construction,  //  that  curses, 
etc; — also  cf.  1.  117  f¥.  with 

To  undervalue  him  whose  least  fam'd  service 
Scornes  to  he  put  in  hallance  with  the  hest 
Of  all  your  Counsailes. 

(Sir  John  van  Olden  B.,  Bullen's  Old  Plays,  II,  232.) 

We  have  seen  that  the  hand  of  Field  has  been  asserted  to 
appear  in  the  last  half  of  this  Scene.  This  is  probably  due  to  the 
presence  here  of  several  rhymed  couplets,  which  are  uncommon 
in  Massinger  save  as  tags  at  the  end  of  Scenes  or  of  impressive 
speeches,  but  not  absolutely  unknown  in  his  work ;  whereas  Field 
employs  them  frequently — in  particular  to  set  off  a  gnomic  utter- 
ance. If  Field's  indeed,  they  can  scarcely  represent  more  than 
his  revising  touch  here  and  there ;  everything  else  in  this  part  of 
the  Scene  bespeaks  Massinger  no  less  clearly  than  does  the  por- 
tion which  preceeds  it.  There  continues  the  same  stately  decla- 
mation, punctuated  at  intervals  by  brief  comments  or  replies,  the 
same  periodic  sentence-structure,  the  same  or  even  greater  fre- 
quency of  characteristic  diction.  Massinger  again  and  again 
refers  in  his  plays  to  the  successive  hardships  of  the  summer's 
heat  and  winter's  frost  (1.  184 — cf.  C-G.  168  b,  205  a,  392  b, 
488  b)  ;  stand  bound  occurs  literally  scores  of  times  upon  his 
pages  (three  times  on  C-G.  yy  a  alone)  ; — typical  also  are  in  their 
dreadful  ruins  buried  quick  (1.  178 — cf.  C-G.  603  a,  625  a.  Sir 
John  van  Olden  B.,  Bullin's  Old  Plays,  II,  209),  Be  constant  in  it 
(1.  196 — cf.  C-G.  2  a,  137  a,  237  a,  329  a),  Strange  rashness!, 
It  is  my  wonder  (1.  293 — cf .  C-G.  26  b,  195  b ;  D.  VIII,  438 ;  XI, 
34).     Cf.  also  1.  156, 

To  quit  the  burthen  of  a  hopeless  life, 

with  C-G.  615  b, 

To  ease  the  burthen  of  a  wretched  life. 


INTRODUCTION  13 

And  11.  284-6, 

But  would  you  had 
Made  trial  of  my  love  in  anything 
But  this, 

with  C-G.  286  a, 

/  could  wish  you  had 
Made  trial  of  my  love  some  other  way. 

And  again,  11.  301-3, 

^  and  his  goodness 

'  Rising  above  his  fortune,  seems  to  me, 

Princelike,  to  will,  not  ask,  a  courtesy. 

with  D.  XI,  37, 

in  his  face  appears 
A   kind  of  majesty  which  should  command. 
Not  sue  for  favour. 

and  the  general  likeness  of  1.  258  ff.  with  C-G.  44  b-45  a,  as  above 
noted.  Nor  do  the  verse  tests  reveal  any  break  in  the  continuity 
of  the  Scene;  the  figures  for  the  first  part  are:  double  endings, 
45  per  cent. ;  run-on  lines,  33  per  cent. — for  the  second  part  : 
double  endings,  36  per  cent. ;  run-on  lines,  36  per  cent. 

Passing  to  the  Second  Act,  we  discover  at  once  a  new  manner 
of  expression,  in  which  the  sentence  has  a  looser  structure,  the 
verse  a  quicker  tempo,  the  poetry  a  striving  now  and  again  for  a 
note  of  lyric  beauty  which,  although  satisfactorily  achieved  in  but 
few  lines,  is  by  Massinger's  verse  not  even  attempted.  A  liberal 
sprinkHng  of  rhymes  appears.  The  Scene  is  a  trifle  more  vividly 
conceived ;  the  emotions  have  a  somewhat  more  genuine  ring. 
Simultaneously,  resemblances  to  the  phraseology  of  Massinger's 
other  plays  become  infrequent;  and,  to  increase  the  wonder,  is 
almost  the  only  reminder  of  him  in  the  whole  of  Scene  i.  On  the 
other  hand  we  must  not  expect  to  find  in  the  work  of  Field  the 
same  large  number  of  recognizable  expressions  as  mark  that  of 
Massinger;  for  he  was  not  nearly  so  given  to  repeating  himself, 
nor  are  there  many  of  his  plays  extant  from  which  to  garner  par- 
allels. The  figure  of  speech  with  which  Charalois  opens  his 
funeral  address  [Field  shows  a  great  predilection  for  "aqueous" 
similes  and  metaphors],  the  liberal  use  of  oaths  ('Slid,  'Slight), 


14  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

a  reference  (1.  137)  to  the  Bermudas  (also  mentioned  in  Amends 
for  Ladies:  M.  427)^,  and  the  comparison  to  the  oak  and  pine 
(11.  119-121— cf.  a  Field  Scene  of  The  Queen  of  Corinth:  D.  V, 
43^7)  are  the  only  specific  minutia  to  which  a  finger  can  be 
pointed.  The  verse  analysis  testifies  similarly  to  a  different 
author  from  that  of  Act  I,  double  endings  being  20  per  cent., 
run-on  lines  15  per  cent. — figures  which  are  quite  normal  to  Field. 

To  the  actor-dramatist  may  be  set  down  the  prose  of  II,  ii 
without  question.  Massinger  practically  never  uses  prose,  which 
is  liberally  employed  by  Field,  as  is  the  almost  indistinguishable 
prose-or-verse  by  which  a  transition  is  made  from  one  medium  to 
the  other.  The  dialogue  between  Beaumelle  and  her  maids  is 
strikingly  like  that  between  two  "  gentlewomen  "  in  The  Knight 
of  Malta,  I,  ii — a  Scene  generally  recognized  as  by  his  hand ;  the 
visit  of  Novall  Junior  which  follows  is  like  a  page  out  of  his 
earher  comedies.  Notable  resemblances  are  11.  177-8,  Uds- 
light!  my  lord,  one  of  the  purls  of  your  hand  is,  without  all  dis- 
cipline, fallen  out  of  his  rank,  with  /  have  seen  him  sit  discon- 
tented a  whole  play  because  one  of  the  purls  of  his  hand  was 
fallen  out  of  his  reach  to  order  again.  {Amends  for  Ladies,  M. 
455)  ;  and  1.  104,  they  skip  into  my  lord's  cast  skins  some  twice 
a  year,  with  and  then  my  lord  (like  a  snake)  casts  a  suite  every 
quarter,  which  I  slip  into:  (Woman  is  a  Weathercock,  M.  374). 
The  song,  after  1.  131,  recalls  that  in  Amends  for  Ladies,  M.  465. 

Of  the  verse  which  follows,  most  of  the  observations  made  in 
regard  to  the  preceeding  Scene  are  applicable.  The  comic  touch 
in  the  midst  of  Romont's  tirade  (11.  174-206)  against  old  Novall, 
when  the  vehemence  of  his  indignation  leads  him  to  seek  at  every 
breath  the  epithet  of  a  different  beast  for  his  foe,  is  surely 
Field's,  not  Massinger's.  A  Field  scene  of  The  Queen  of  Corinth, 
D.  V,  438,  parallels  with  its  Thou  a  gentleman!  thou  an  ass,  the 
construction  of  1.  276,  while  there  too  is  duplicated  the  true-love 
knots  of  1.  314,  though  in  a  rather  grotesque  connection.  The 
verse  tests  are  confirmative  of  Field:  21.  per  cent,  double  end- 
ings ;  19  per  cent,  run-on  lines.  While  a  few  resemblances  to 
phrases  occurring  somewhere  in  the  works  of  Massinger  can  be 
marked  here  and  there  in  the  355  lines  of  the  Scene,  they  are  not 
such  as  would  demand  consideration,  nor  are  more  numerous 
than  sheer  chance  would  yield  in  the  case  of  a  writer  so  prolific  as 


INTRODUCTION  15 

the  "  stage-poet."  The  parallel  between  11.  284-297  and  a  passage 
from  The  Unnatural  Combat  is  pointed  out  under  the  head  of 
Date,  and  one  of  several  possible  explanations  for  this  coinci- 
dence is  there  offered.  These  lines  in  The  Fatal  Dowry  are  as 
unmistakably  Field's  as  any  verse  in  the  entire  play;  their  short, 
abruptly  broken  periods  and  their  rapid  flow  are  as  characteristic 
of  him  as  the  style  of  their  analogue  in  The  Unnatural  Combat  is 
patently  Massingerian. 

Act  III  presents-^  more  difficult  problem.  It  will  be  noted 
that  Fleay  and  Boyle  alike  declare  that  its  single  long  Scene  is 
divided  between  the  two  authors,  but  are  unable  to  agree  as  to  the 
point  of  division.  The  first  316  lines  are  beyond  question  the 
work  of  Massinger.  The  tilt  between  Romont  and  Beaumelle  is 
conducted  with  that  flood  of  rhetorical  vituperation  by  which  he 
customarily  attempts  to  delineate  passion ;  in  no  portion  of  the 
play  is  his  diction  and  sentence-structure  more  marked ;  and  the 
parallels  to  passages  elsewhere  in  his  works  reappear  with  re- 
doubled profusion.  Indeed,  they  become  too  numerous  for  com- 
plete citation ;  let  it  suffice  to  refer  11.  43-4  to  D.  Ill,  477 ;  11.  53-4 
to  C-G.  173  a;  11.  80-3  to  D.  Ill,  481;  1.  104  to  C-G.  532  a; 

I.  116  to  C-G.  146  b;  11.  117-8  to  D.  VI,  294  and  D.  VI,  410; 

II.  232-5  to  C-G.  307  a,  also  to  475  b,  and  to  D.  VIII,  406;  while 
the  phrase,  Meet  with  an  ill  construction  (1.  238)  is' a  common 
one  with  Massinger  (cf.  C-G.  y6  a,  141  b,  193  b,  225  b,  339  b),  as 
are  such  ironic  observations  as  the  Why,  'tis  exceeding  well  of  1. 
293  (cf.,  e.  g.,  175  b).  This  part  of  the  Scene  contains  45  per 
cent,  double  endings  and  36  per  cent,  run-on  lines. 

The  last  161  lines  of  the  Act  with  scarcely  less  certainty  can  be 
established  as  Field's,  though  on  a  first  reading  one  might  imagine, 
from  the  wordiness  of  the  vehement  dialogue  and  the  rather  high 
ratio  (19:11)  of  speeches  ending  in  mid-Hne,  that  the  hand  of 
Massinger  continues  throughout.  But  the  closest  examination 
no  longer  will  reveal  traces  of  that  playwright's  distinctive  handi- 
work, while  a  ratio  of  17  per  cent,  for  double  endings  and  28  per 
cent,  for  run-on  lines,  the  introduction  of  rhyme,  the  oaths,  and 
the  change  from  the  previous  full-flowing  declamation  to  shorter, 
more  abrupt  periods  are  vouchers  that  this  part  of  the  Scene  is 
from  the  pen  of  the  actor-dramatist.     We  can  scarcely  imagine 


16  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

the  ponderous-styled  Massinger  writing  anything  so  easy  and 
rapid  as 

I'll  die  first. 

Farewell;   continue  merry,  and  high  heaven 

Keep  your  wife  chaste. 

Such  phrases  as  So  I  not  heard  them  (1.  352)  and  Like  George 
a-horseback  (1.  433)  in  the  loose  structure  of  the  one  and  the 
slangy  scurrility  of  the  other,  exhibit  no  kinship  to  his  manner; 
^-  373}  They  are  fools  that  judge  me  by  my  outward  seeming 
recalls  a  Field  passage  in  The  Queen  of  Corinth  (D.  V,  444) 
They  are  fools  that  hold  them  dignified  by  blood.  There  is  here 
and  there,  moreover,  a  certain  violence  of  expression,  a  com- 
pressed over-trenchancy  of  phrase,  that  brings  to  mind  the  rant 
oT  the  early  Elizabethans,  and  is  found  among  the  Jacobeans  only 
in  the  work  of  ^Rowley,  Beaumont,  and  Field.  For  the  last 
named,  this  is  notably  exempHfied  in  the  opening  soliloquy  of  The 
Knight  of  Malta;  we  cannot  but  recognize  the  same  touch  here  in 
11.  386-8: 

Thou  dost  strike 

A  deathful  coldness  to  my  hearfs  high  heat, 

And  shrink' St  my  liver  like  the  calenture. 

The  Something  I  must  do,  which  concludes  the  Act,  is  re- 
peatedly paralleled  in  Massinger's  plays,  but  a  similar  indefinite 
resolve  is  expressed  in  Woman  is  a  Weathercock  (M.  363),  and  it 
consequently  cannot  be  adduced  as  evidence  of  his  hand.  Imme- 
diately above,  however  (11.  494-6),  we  encounter,  in  the  allusion 
to  the  Italian  and  Dutch  temperaments,  a  thought  twice  echoed  by 
the  "  stage-poet "  in  plays  of  not  greatly  later  date.  The  Duke  of 
Milan  and  The  Little  French  Lawyer  (C-G.  90  a;  D.  Ill,  505). 
It  may  represent  an  interpolation  by  Massinger ;  it  may  be  merely 
that  this  rather  striking  conclusion  to  the  climatic  speech  of  his 
collaborator's  scene  so  fixed  itself  on  his  mind  as  to  crop  out 
afterwards  in  his  own  productions. 

In  the  short  disputed  passage  (11.  317-343)  which  separates 
what  is  undoubtedly  Massinger's  from  what  is  undoubtedly 
Field's,  it  would  appear  that  both  playwrights  had  a  hand.  The 
'S death  and  Gads  me!,  the  play  upon  the  word  currier,  and  the 


INTRODUCTION  17 

phrase,  /  shall  be  mith  you  suddenly  (cf.  Q.  of  Cor.  D.  V,  467) 
speak  for  Field ;  while  Massinger,  on  the  other  hand,  parallels 


with 


His  back 
Appears  to  me  as  it  would  tire  a  beadle; 

A  man  of  resolution,  whose  shoulders 
\    Are  of  themselves  armour  of  proof,  against 

A  bastinado,  and  will  tire  ten  beadles. — C-G.  186  b ; 

and  the  phrase  **  to  sit  down  with  a  disgrace  "  occurs  something 
like  a  dozen  times  on  his  pages,  especially  frequently  in  the  col- 
laborated plays — that  is  to  say,  in  the  earher  period  of  his  work, 
to  which  The  Fatal  Dowry  belongs.  R  is  probable,  and  not  un- 
natural, that  the  labors  of  the  partners  in  composition  overlapped 
on  this  bit  of  the  Scene,  but  metrical  analysis  claims  with  as  much 
certainty  as  can  attach  to  this  test  in  the  case  of  so  short  a 
passage  that  it  is  substantially  Massinger's,  and  should  go  rather 
with  what  preceeds  than  with  what  comes  after  it,  the  verse  being 
all  one  piece  with  that  of  the  former  section.  It  has  37  per  cent, 
double  endings  and  41  per  cent,  run-on  lines. 

IV,  i,  opens  with  a  prose  passage  for  all  the  world  like  that  of 
Woman  is  a  Weathercock,  I,  ii,  with  its  picture  of  the  dandy,  his 
parasites,  and  the  pert  page  who  forms  a  sort  of  chorus  with  his 
caustic  asides;  and  writes  itself  down  indisputably  as  by  the  same 
author.  Novall  Junior  and  his  coterie  appear  here  as  in  their 
former  presentation  in  II,  ii.  We  have  again  the  same  racy 
comedy,  the  same  faltering  of  the  vehicle  between  verse  and  prose 
(see  11.  61^;  137-153).  After  the  clearing  of  the  stage  of  all 
save  Romont  and  young  Novall,  uninterrupted  verse  ensues, 
which,  despite  a  rather  notable  parallel  in  The  Beggars'  Bush, 
D.  IX,  9  to  1.  174,  is  evidently  Field's  also.  An  analogue  of  11. 
180-1  is  discoverable  in  Amends  for  Ladies  (M.  421),  as  is  of 
the  reference  (1.  197)  to  "fairies'  treasure"  in  Woman  is  a 
Weathercock  (M.  344).  Novall's  exclamation  (1.  182),  Pox  of 
this  gun!  and  his  retort  (1.  201),  Good  devil  to  your  rogueship! 
are  Fieldian,  and  the  entire  passage  possesses  a  vigor  and  an  easy 
naturalness  which  declare  his  authorship.  It  is  not  improbable, 
however,  that  his  contribution  ends  with  the  fragmentary  1.  207, 
and  that  the  remaining  four  Hnes  of  the  Scene  are  a  Massinger 


18  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

tag.  The  Maid  of  Honour  (C-G.  28  a)  furnishes  a  striking 
parallel  for  11.  208-9,  while  for  210-1  cf.  C-G.  192  a.  The 
metrical  tests  for  IV,  i,  confirm  Field:  22  per  cent,  double  end- 
ings ;  22  per  cent,  run-on  lines. 

With  the  next  Scene  the  hand  of  Massinger  is  once  more  in 
evidence  with  all  its  accustomed  manifestations.  One  interested 
in  his  duplication  of  characteristic  phrasing  may  refer  for  com- 
parison 11.  13-4  to  C-G.  299  b;  1.  17  to  C-G.  241  a;  11.  24-6  to 
C-G.  547  b ;  11.  29-30  to  C-G.  425  b ;  1.  57  to  C-G.  41  b,  70  b ;  1.  94 
to  C-G.  182  b.  The  Scene  contains  32  per  cent,  double  endings 
and  37  per  cent,  run-on  lines.  The  authorship  of  its  two  songs  is 
less  certain.  Field  was  more  given  to  song-writing  than  was 
Massinger,  and  the  second  of  this  pair  is  reminiscent  in  its  con- 
ception of  the  Grace  Seldom  episode  in  Amends  for  Ladies  (11,  i). 

The  short  IV,  iii  is  by  Massinger.  In  evidence  of  him  are  its 
36  per  cent,  of  double  endings  and  55  per  cent,  of  run-on  lines,  its 
involved  sentence  structure,  and  the  familiar  phrasing  which 
makes  itself  manifest  even  in  so  brief  a  passage  (e.  g. :  To  play 
the  parasite,  1.  7 — cf.  V,  iii,  78  and  C-G.  334  b.  Cf.  also  11.  9-10 
with  D.  Ill,  476;  and  1.  22  with  C-G.  40  b,  153  a,  262  b.). 

The  same, dramatist's  work  continues  through  the  last  Scene  of 
the  Act.  This,  the  emotional  climax  of  the  play,  representing  a 
quasi-judicial  procedure,  affords  him  abundant  opportunity  for 
fervid  moralizing  and  speech-making,  of  which  he  takes  advantage 
most  typically.  Massinger  commonplaces  are  1.  29,  Made  ship- 
wreck of  your  faith  (cf.  C-G.  55  b,  235  a,  414  b)  ;  1.  56,  In  the  for- 
bidden labyrinth  of  lust  (cf.  C-G.  298b)  ;  1.  89,  Angels  guard  me! 
(cf.  C-G.  59  b,  475  bj ;  1.  118-9,  and  yield  myself  Most  miserably 
guilty  (cf.  C-G.  61  b,  66  b,  130  a;  D.  VI,  354)  ;  etc. ;  while  within 
a  year  or  so  of  the  time  when  he  wrote  referring  to  ''  those  famed 
matrons"  (1.  70),  he  expatiated  upon  them  in  detail  (see  The 
Virgin  Martyr,  C-G.  33  a).  Yet  more^ specific  parallels  may  be 
found:  for  1.  63  cf.  C-G.  179  a;  11.  76-7,  cf.  C-G.  28  a ;  1.  78,  cf. 
C-G.  32  b;  11.  162-3,  cf.  C-G.  3  b,  in  a  passage  wherein  there  is 
a  certain  similarity  of  situation;  1.  177,  cf.  D.  IX,  7.  Were  any 
further  confirmation  needed  for  Massinger's  authorship,  the 
metrical  tests  would  supply  it,  with  their  36  per  cent,  double  end- 
ings and  34  per  cent,  run-on  lines. 

The  most  cursory  reading  of  V,  i  is  sufficient  to  establish  the 


INTRODUCTION  19 

conviction  that  its  author  is  not  identical  with  that  of  the  earlier 
comic  passages — is  not  Field,  but  Massinger.  The  humor,  such 
as  it  is,  is  of  a  graver,  more  restrained  sort — satiric  rather  than 
burlesque ;  it  has  lost  lightness  and  verve,  and  approaches  to 
high-comedy  and  even  to  moralizing.  One  feels  that  the  con- 
fession of  the  tailor-gallant  is  no  mere  fun-making  devise,  but  a 
caustic  attack  upon  social  conditions  against  which  the  writer 
nurtured  a  grudge.  Massingerian  are  such  expressions  as  And 
now  I  think  on't  hetter^{\.  yy — cf.  C-G.  57  b,  468  a,  615  a ;  D.  XI, 
28),  and  use  a  conscience  (1.  90 — cf.  C-G.  444  a,  453  a),  while  the 
metrical  evidence  of  36  per  cent,  double  endings  and  29  per  cent, 
run-on  lines  fortifies  a  case  concerning  which  all  commentators 
are  in  agreement.  But  despite  the  unanimity  of  critical  opinion 
hitherto,  I  am  not  sure  that  Field  did  not  contribute  a  minor  touch 
here  and  there  to  the  Scene.  Such  contribution,  if  a  fact,  must 
have  been  small,  for  the  Massinger  flavor  is  unmistakable 
throughout;  yet  in  the  Plague  on't!  and  the  'Slid!,  in  the  play 
upon  words  (11.  13-4,  20-1,  44),  which  is  rare  with  Massinger 
and  common  with  Field,  in  the  line,  /  only  know  {thee]  now  to 
hate  thee  deadly:  (cf.  Amends  for  Ladies,  M.  421 :  /  never  more 
Will  hear  or  see  thee,  hut  will  hate  thee  deadly.),  we  may,  per- 
haps, detect  a  hint  of  his  hand. 

Scene  ii  (which  in  the  Quarto  ends  with  the  reconciliation  of 
Charalois  and  Romont,  the  entry  of  Du  Croy,  Charmi,  etc.  being 
marked  as  the  beginning  of  a  third  Scene,  though  the  place  is 
unchanged  and  the  action  continuous,  wherefore  modern  editors 
disregard  the  Quarto's  division  and  count  Scene  ii  as  including 
all  the  remainder  of  the  Act)  presents  the  usual  distinctive  ear- 
marks of  a  Massinger  passage.  The  last  third  of  it,  however 
(11.  80-121),  has,  on  account  of  the  presence  of  several  rhymes, 
been  commonly  assigned  to  Field.  No  doubt  his  hand  is  here 
discernable ;  1.  118,  marked  me  out  the  zvay  how  to  defend  it,  is 
scarcely  a  Massinger  construction  either ;  but  I  cannot  think 
Field's  presence  here  more  than  that  of  a  reviser,  just  as  in  the 
latter  half  of  I,  ii.  The  language  remains  more  Massinger's 
than  Field's ;  and  while  the  passage  is  over-short  for  metrical 
tests  to  be  decisive,  the  39  per  cent,  of  double  endings  and  35 
per  cent,  of  run-on  lines  which  it  yields  (for  the  earlier  part  of 
the  Scene  the  figures  are  respectively  28  per  cent,  and  35  per 


20  THE    FATAL    DOWRY 

cent.)  are  corroborative  of  Massinger's  authorship.  Cf.  also 
11.  96-8  with  this  from  The  Renegado  (C-G.  157  a)  : 

This  applause 
Confirm'd  in  your  allowance,  joys  me  more 
Than  if  a  thousand  full-cramm'd  theatres 
Should  clap  their  eager  hands. 

Of  the  final  Scene,  V,  iii,  Httle  need  be  said.  It  brings  before 
us  again  a  court-room,  with  another  trial,  and  continues  the 
manner  of  its  predecessor,  I,  ii,  as  only  Massinger  can.  His 
customary  formulae,  stand  hound,  play  the  parasite,  etc.,  are 
here;  characteristic  too  are  his  opposition  of  wanton  heat  and 
lawful  fires  (11.  141-2 — cf.  C-G.  37  b;  D.  V.  476),  while  fur- 
ther material  for  comparison  may  be  found  in  11.  95-6  with 
Respect,  wealth,  favour,  the  whole  world  for  a  dower  of  The 
Virgin  Martyr  (C-G.  6  b),  and  in  11.  165-7: 

Char.     You  must  find  other  proofs  to  strengthen  these 
But  mere  presumptions. 

Du  Croy  Or  we  shall  hardly 

Allow  your  innocence. 

with  C-G.  39  a  and  b: 

You  must  produce 
Reasons  of  more  validity  and  weight 
To  plead  in  your  defence,  or  we  shall  hardly 
Conclude  you  innocent. 

The  last  passage  cited  for  comparison  also  exhibits  another 
feature  normal  to  the  work  of  this  dramatist:  the  splitting  of  an 
observation,  frequently  a  single  sentence,  between  two  speakers ; 
so  11.  38-9,  and  again,  1.  59.  The  Scene  and  play  are  rounded 
off  with  the  pointing  of  a  moral,  so  indispensable  to  Massinger's 
satisfaction. 

To  sum  up,  therefore,  disregarding  for  practical  purposes  the 
slight  touches  of  Field  in  I,  ii,  11.  i^G-end;  III,  i,  11.  317-343; 
V,  ii,  11.  So-end;  and  perhaps  in  V,  i; — and  the  apparent  Mas- 
singer  touches  in  IV,  i,  and  possibly  at  one  or  two  other  points 
in  the  Field  Scenes,  we  may  divide  the  play  as  follows : 

Massinger:  I;  III,  11.  1-343;  IV,  ii,  iii,  iv;  V. 

Field  :  II ;  III,  11.  1,44-end;  IV,  i. 


INTRODUCTION 


21 


A  metrical  analysis  of  the  play  is  appended  in  tabular  form,  in 
which  I  have  computed  separately  the  figures  for  each  portion 
of  any  Scene  on  which  there  has  been  a  question.  It  will  be  noted 
that  the  single  simple  test  of  the  mid-line  speech-ending  would, 


Scene 

B 

in 

If 
^1 

1 

Ii 
.£3 

c 

Ii 

2 

II 

Pi 

111 

W- 

|1« 

ma 

Author 

I,  i 

— 

196 

64 

33 

56 

29 

I 

2 

42 

22 

Massinger 

I.  ii  (a)  .  . 

— 

145 

64 

45 

48 

33 

I 

2 

25 

14 

Massinger 

I.  ii  (b)  .  . 

— 

158 

57 

36 

57 

36 

0 

12 

30 

16 

Massinger  (Field 
revision) 

II.  i 

— 

145 

29 

20 

22 

15 

4 

16 

19 

17 

Field 

II,  ii  .... 

82 

?73 

57 

21 

52 

19 

9 

12 

47 

50 

Field 

III.  i  (a)  . 

— 

316 

142 

45 

114 

36 

I 

2 

67 

29 

Massinger 

III.  i(b). 



27 

10 

37 

II 

41 

3 

0 

13 

6 

Massinger  (with 
Field  ?) 

Ill,  i  (c)  . 

— 

161 

28 

17 

45 

38 

0 

10 

19 

II 

Field 

IV.  i  .... 

88 

124 

27 

22 

27 

22 

4 

6 

26 

24 

Field 

IV,  ii  .  .  .  . 

— 

104 

33 

32 

38 

37 

2 

2 

24 

10 

Massinger 

IV,  iii.... 

— 

32 

8 

36 

12 

55 

0 

0 

3 

I 

Massinger 

IV,  iv  .  .  . 

— 

195 

71 

36 

67 

34 

0 

6 

32 

8 

Massinger 

V,  i 

— 

107 

38 

36 

31 

29 

I 

2 

16 

5 

Massinger 

V.  ii(a).. 

— 

80 

22 

28 

27 

34 

0 

2 

17 

2 

Massinger 

V.  ii  (b) . . 

— 

41 

15 

37 

14 

35 

0 

8 

3 

3 

Massinger  (Field 
revision) 

V,  iii 

— 

229 

98 

43 

50 

22 

0 

4 

34 

19 

Massinger 

with  but  two  exceptions — one  (III,  i,  c)  doubtful,  and  the  other 
(V,  ii,  b)  too  short  a  passage  to  afford  a  fair  test — have  made  a 
clean-cut  and  correct  determination  of  authorship  in  every  case. 


Critical  Estimate 

No  less  an  authority  than  Swinburne  has  pronounced  The 
Fatal  Dowry  the  finest  tragedy  in  the  Massinger  corpus.  Cer- 
tainly it  would  be  the  most  formidable  rival  of  The  Duke  of 
Milan  for  that  distinction.  It  occupies  an  anomalous  position 
among  the  works  of  the  "  stage  poet."  His  dramas  are,  as  a 
rule,  strongest  in  construction ;  he  went  at  play-making  like  a 
skillful  architect,  and  put  together  and  moulded  his  material  with 
steady  hand.  They  are  likely  to  be  weakest  in  characterization. 
Massinger  could  not  get  inside  his  figures  and  endow  them  with 
the  breath  of  life ;  they  remain  stony  shapes  chiseled  in  severely 
angular   and   conventional   lines,   like    some    old    Egyptian   bas- 


22  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

relief.  But  The  Fatal  Dowry  is  strong  in  characterization  and 
defective  in  construction. 

The  structural  fault  is  less  surprising  when  it  is  ascertained 
to  be  fundamental — inevitable  in  the  theme.  The  play  breaks  in 
the  middle:  it  is  really  composed  of  two  stories;  the  first  two 
Acts  present  and  resolve  one  action,  while  another,  hitherto 
barely  presaged,  occupies  the  last  three,  and  is  the  proper  story 
of  the  Fatal  Dowry.  Charalois'  self-immolation  for  the  corpse 
of  his  heroic  father,  and  his  rescue  and  reward  by  the  great- 
hearted Rochfort,  form  a  little  play  in  themselves — a  brief  but 
stately  tragi-comedy,  which  is  followed  by  a  tense  drama  of 
intrigue  and  retribution,  of  adultery  and  avenged  honor — itself 
complete  in  itself,  for  which  we  are  prepared  in  the  first  two 
Acts  only  by  one  figure,  whose  potentialities  for  disaster  are 
ominous  if  not  obvious : — Beaumelle,  of  whom  more  later.  This 
plot-building  by  enjambment  precludes  the  slow,  steady  mounting 
of  suspense  from  the  initial  moment  and  inexorable  gathering 
of  doom  which  are  manifested  in  a  well-conceived  tragedy ;  yet 
crude,  amorphous,  inorganic  as  it  may  seem — defying,  as  it  does, 
unity  of  action — like  as  it  is  to  the  earliest  Elizabethan  plays, 
which  were  concerned  with  a  single  career  rather  than  a  single 
theme,  it  would  appear  inevitably  necessary,  if  a  maximum  effect 
is  to  be  gained  from  the  given  plot-material.  Just  as  Wagner 
found  it  impossible  to  do  justice  to  the  story  of  Siegfried  with- 
out first  presenting  that  of  Siegmund  and  Sieglinde,  so  the  ex- 
periment of  Rowe  (who  in  re-working  the  story  for  The  Fair 
Penitent  relegated  to  expository  dialogue  the  narration  of  what 
corresponds  to  the  first  two  Acts  of  The  Fatal  Dowry)  sadly 
demonstrated  that  unless  the  reader  or  audience  actually  sees, 
and  not  merely  hears  about,  Charalois'  previous  devotion,  Roch- 
fort's  generosity,  and  Romont's  loyalty,  these  characters  do  not 
attract  to  themselves  a  full  measure  of  sympathy,  and  the  story 
of  their  later  vicissitudes  is  somewhow  unconvincing  and  falls  flat. 

Massinger  and  Field  accepted  frankly  the  structural  awkward- 
ness of  their  plot  as  they  had  fashioned  or  found  it.  Making, 
apparently,  nb  attempt  to  obviate  its  essential  duality,  they  went 
to  work  in  the  most  straightforward  manner,  and  achieved, 
thanks  in  no  small  measure  to  that  same  resolute  directness  of 
approach,  a  drama  of  so  naturahstic  a  tone  as  half  to  redeem  its 


INTRODUCTION  .  23 

want  of  unity.  The  Fatal  Dowry  is  not  an  Aristotelian  tragedy 
with  a  definite  beginning,  middle,  and  end — it  is  rather  a  cross- 
section  of  life.  The  unconventionality  and  vitality  of  such  a 
production  are  startling,  and  obtain  a  high  degree  of  verisimili- 
tude. 

Both  authors  seem  to  have  been  themselves  inspired  by  their 
virile  theme  to  give  to  it  their  best  work.  The  stately,  somewhat 
monotonous  verse  of  Massinger,  which  never  loses  dignity  and 
is  so  incapable  of  expressing  climaxes  of  passion,  is  once  or 
twice  almost  forgotten,  or  else  rises  to  a  majesty  which  trans- 
figures it.  Though  forensic  declamation  was  always  the  especial 
forte  of  this  dramatist,  he  literally  out-did  himself  in  his  man- 
agement of  the  suit  for  the  dead  Marshal's  body.  The  elaborate 
rhetoric  of  Charmi,  checked  by  the  stern  harshness  of  Novall 
Senior,  the  indignant  outburst  of  Romont,  and  the  sad,  yet  noble 
calmness  of  Charalois'  speech  in  which  he  presses  the  forlorn 
alternative,  succeed  one  another  with  striking  contrast;  the  very 
flow  of  the  verse  changes  with  the  speaker  in  a  manner  which 
recalls  the  wonderful  employment  of  this  device  by  Shakespeare, 
as,  for  example,  in  the  First  Act  of  Othello.  In  the  final  Scene 
of  Act  IV,  Massinger  achieves  a  climax  worthy  of  Fletcher  him- 
self;— save,  perhaps,  the  denouement  of  A  New  Way  to  Pay 
Old  Debts,  and  the  great  scene  in  The  Duke  of  Milan  in  which 
Sforza's  faith  in  his  Duchess  is  broken  down  by  aspersion  after 
aspersion,  until  he  slays  her,  only  to  learn  the  terrible  truth  one 
instant  later,  it  is  the  most  dramatic  situation  he  ever  worked  up. 
Field,  too,  seems  to  have  been  on  his  mettle:  his  verse  is  more 
trenchant,  his  care  greater  than  in  his  two  earher  comedies ;  the 
lines  (II,  i,  126-7) 

My  root  is  earthed,  and  la  desolate  branch 
Left  scattered  in  the  highway  of  the  world, 

touch  the  high-water  mark  of  his  poetic  endeavor. 

Blemishes,  indeed,  are  not  unapparent.  The  episodic  first 
Scene  of  Act  V  is  a  rather  stupid  piece  of  pseudo-comedy  by 
Massinger,  which  serves  no  function  adequate  to  justify  its 
existence,  while  it  interrupts  the  thread  of  the  main  story  at  a 
point  where  its  culminating  intensity  does  not,  of  right,  permit 
such  a  diversion.     Gififord  in  commenting  upon  this  Scene  makes 


24  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

the  amazing  pronouncement  that  it  serves  ''to  prove  how  differ- 
ently the  comic  part  of  this  drama  would  have  appeared,  if  the 
whole  had  fortunately  fallen  into  the  hands  of  Massinger."  Surely 
never  was  criticism  more  fatuous. 

But  the  most  serious — indeed,  the  outstanding — defect  of  the 
play  is  the  easy  readiness  of  Charalois  to  break  with  Romont. 
The  calm,  unregretful  placidity  with  which  he  untwists  the  long 
web  of  friendship  with  a  man  who  has  stood  by  him  through 
weal  and  woe,  who  has  courted  a  prison's  chains  for  his  sake, 
shocks  us,  and  repels  us  with  its  flinty  self-sufficiency.  It  is  not 
that  we  know  him  to  be  wrong  and  Romont  to  be  right ;  suppose 
the  high  faith  of  Charalois  in  Beaumelle  to  be  entirely  justified 
and  the  charge  of  Romont  to  be  as  groundless  as  it  is  wildly 
delivered  and  unconvincing,  yet  there  is  no  excuse  for  the  imme- 
diacy with  which,  on  the  first  revelation  of  what  he  himself  has 
demanded  to  know,  the  hero  rejects,  along  with  the  report  of  his 
friend,  the  friend  himself,  whose  aim  could  have  been  only  his 
best  interest.  For  the  fault  lies  not  in  the  situation,  which  is 
sound,  but  in  its  over-hasty  development.  A  little  more  length 
to  the  scene,  a  few  more  speeches  to  either  participant  in  the 
dialogue,  a  little  longer  and  more  vituperative  insistence  on  the 
part  of  Romont  in  the  face  of  Charalois'  warnings  that  he  has 
gone  far  enough,  and  the  quarrel  would  have  been  thoroughly 
reahzed  and  developed.  As  it  is,  it  comes  on  insufficient  provo- 
cation ;  the  hero,  at  the  moment  when  he  should  excite  regret  and 
sympathy  because  of  his  blind,  mistaken  trust  in  his  unworthy 
wife,  excites  rather  indignation;  the  later  words  of  Romont  with 
which  he  justifies  his  unshaken  loyalty  to  his  comrade  turn  back 
the  mind  perforce  to  that  comrade's  lack  of  loyalty  to  him,  and 
unwittingly  ring  out  as  a  judgment  upon  Charalois : 

That  friendship's  raised  on  sand, 
Which  every  sudden  gust  of  discontent, 
Or  flowing  of  our  passions  can  change. 
As  if  it  ne'er  had  been: — : 

The  faulty  passage,  it  will  be  noted  upon  reference  to  the  analysis 
of  shares  in  collaboration,  is  by  the  hand  of  Field.  Unconvincing 
precipitancy  in  the  conduct  of  situations  marks  his  work  else- 
where, notably  in  the  Amends  for  Ladies. 


INTRODUCTION  25 

As  it  has  already  been  said,  the  strongest  feature  of  the  play 
is  its  characterization.  Almost  every  figure  iS;  if  not  an  indi- 
vidual, at  least  a  type  so  vitalized  as  to  appear  to  take  on  life. 
One  or  two  touches,  to  be  sure,  of  conventional  Massingerian 
habits  of  thought  still  cling  about  them ;  even  the  noblest  cannot 
entirely  forget  to  consider  how  their  conduct  will  pose  them 
before  the  eyes  of  the  world  and  posterity.  But  apart  from  such 
slight  occasional  lapses,  they  may  truthfully  be  said  to  speak  and 
move  quite  in  the  manner  of  real  men  and  women. 

The  hero,  Charalois,  is  drawn  as  of  a  gentle,  meditative,  tem- 
perate, and  self-possessed  disposition,  in  strong  and  effective 
contrast  to  his  friend.  Though  his  military  exploits  are  spoken 
of  with  admiration,  and  Romont  testifies  that  he  can  "pursue  a 
foe  like  lightning,"  he  betrays  a  certain  readiness  to  yield  to  dis- 
couragement scarce  to  be  expected  in  the  son  of  the  great  gen- 
eral. In  consequence  Of  these  facts,  he  has  been  described  by 
some  (notably  Cunningham,  in  his  Edition  of  Giiford,  Introduc- 
tion, p.  xiii; — cf.  also  Phelan,  p.  6i ;  and  Beck,  pp.  22-3)  as 
"  a  Hamlet  whose  mind  has  not  yet  been  sicklied  o'er  by  the  pale 
cast  of  thought,"  and  his  long  silence  at  the  opening  of  Act  I  is 
compared  to  that  of  the  Danish  Prince  on  his  first  appearance. 
But,  in  reality,  excess  of  pride  is  the  chief  reason  of  Charalois' 
backwardness  on  this  occasion,  and  thereafter  he  acts  promptly 
and  efficiently  always.  The  same  over-sensitive  pride  continues 
to  manifest  itself  throughout  the  play — when  he  is  confronted 
with  Rochfort's  generosity;  when  he  finds  (III,  i,  365  ff.)  that  it 
is  He  who  is  the  object  of  the  jests  of  Novall  Junior  and  his 
satellites  (though  scarce  a  breath  earlier  he  has  chided  Romont 
for  noticing  the  yapping  of  such  petty  curs)  ;  and  in  the  viscissi- 
tudes  of  the  catastrophe  and  its  consequences.  A  harmonious 
twin-birth  with  his  pride,  at  once  proceeding  from  it,  bound  up 
with  it,  and  on  occasion  over-weighing  its  scruples,  is  an  extreme 
punctiliousness  at  every  turn  to  the  dictates  of  that  peculiarly 
Spanish  imperative,  "the  point  of  honor," — a  consideration  so 
prominent  throughout  the  play  as  to  have  convinced  many  critics 
that  the  source  of  the  story,  although  still  undiscovered,  must 
have  been  Spanish.  These  two  traits — pride  and  an  adherence 
to  "the  point  of  honor,"  are  almost  invariably  the  mainsprings 
of  Charalois'  conduct.     His  pride  holds  him  back  from  suppli- 


26  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

eating  in  behalf  of  his  father  the  clemency  of  the  unworthy 
ministers  of  the  law,  till  he  is  persuaded  by  Romont  that  honor 
not  only  permits  but  requires  that  he  do  so;  he  feels  that  honor 
demands  that  he  sacrifice  himself  to  secure  his  father's  burial,  and 
he  does  it;  that  honor  demands  that  he  put  away  his  friend  in 
loyalty  to  his  wife,  and  he  does  it;  that  honor  demands  that  he 
slay  the  adulteress — and  he  does  it;  he  even  consents  to  lay  bare 
the  details  of  his  ignominious  wrong  before  the  eyes  of  men, 
because  he  is  brought  to  believe  that  "  the  point  of  honor  "  calls 
for  a  justification  of  his  course  and  the  holding  of  it  up  as  an 
example  to  the  world.  It  is  a  striking  and  consistent  portrait — 
how  unlike  the  usual  conventionally  noble  hero  of  romantic 
drama ! 

Romont,  however,  is  the  finest  figure  of  the  play.  He  draws, 
to  himself  rather  more  than  his  share  of  interest  and  sympathy, 
to  the  detriment  of  the  protagonist.  Of  a  type  common  enough 
on  the  stage  of  that  day — the  bluff,  loyal  soldier-friend  of  the 
hero — he  is  yet  so  thoroughly  individualized  that  we  can  discuss 
him  and  calculate  what  he  will  do  in  given  situations,  even  as 
with  a  character  of  Shakespeare's.  The  portrait  suffers  from 
no  jarring  inconsistencies ;  almost  his  every  utterance  is  abso- 
lutely in  part,  and  adds  its  touch  to  round  out  our  conception  of 
him.  His  negligence  of  his  personal  appearance,  his  quick  tem- 
per, his  impulsiveness,  his  violence,  his  lack  of  restraint,  his 
fierce,  uncompromising  honesty,  his  devotion  to  the  "grave  Gen- 
eral dead  "  and  his  unshaken  fidelity  to  the  living  son,  his  flashes 
of  unexpected  tenderness,  his  homage  for  the  reverend  virtue 
of  Rochfort — a  sort  of  child-like  awe  for  what  he  knows  is  finer 
if  not  of  truer  metal  than  his  own  rough  spirit,  his  ill-disguised 
scorn  for  Novall  Junior  and  his  creatures,  "those  dogs  in 
doublets,"  his  lack  of  tact  which  unfits  him  for  effective  service 
in  the  delicate  task  of  preserving  Beaumelle's  honor,  and  dooms 
his  story  to  Charalois  to  disbelief  and  resentment,  his  prompt, 
fearless  decisiveness  of  action,  the  tumultuous  flood  of  nervous 
and  at  times  eloquent  speech  which  pours  from  his  lips  when  he 
is  aroused,  yet  dies  in  his  throat  when  he  is  lashed  by  a  woman's 
tongue — a  flood  of  speech  which  is  most  torrential  when  the 
situation  is  most  doubtful  or  hopeless  of  good  issue,  but  which 
gives  place  to  a  self-possessed  terseness  when  he  is  quite  sure  of 


INTRODUCTION  27 

his  ground: — all  go  to  give  detail  and  reality  to  a  character  at 
once  amazingly  alive  and  irresistibly  attractive.  "  Romont  is  one 
of  the  noblest  of  all  Massinger's  men,"  says  Swinburne,  "  and 
Shakespeare  has  hardly  drawn  noble  men  more  nobly  than  Mas- 
singer."  To  find  a  parallel  creation  who  can  over-match  him  in 
vigor  of  presentation  and  theatrical  efficiency,  we  must  go  back 
to  the  Melantius  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  These  two  charac- 
ters represent  the  ultimate  elaborations  of  the  stock  figure  of  the 
faithful  friend  and  l;^nt  soldier;  Melantius  is  the  supreme 
romantic,  Romont  the  supreme  realistic,  development  of  the  type. 

Yet  though  Romont  is  the  most  compelling  of  the  dramatis 
personae,  into  none  does  Massinger  enter  more  thoroughly  than 
the  noble  figure  of  Rochfort.  Utter  devotion  to  virtue,  to  which 
he  had  paid  a  life-long  fidelity,  is  the  key-note  of  the  nature  of 
the  aged  Premier  President,  and  accordingly  in  him  the  deep- 
seated  ethical  seriousness  of  the  "  stage-poet "  found  a  congenial 
expression.  A  statelier  dignity  is  wont  to  echo  in  his  lines  than 
in  the  utterance  of  any  other  character;  they  breathe  an  exalted 
calm,  a  graciousness,  a  grave  courtesy,  as  though  the  very  spirit 
of  their  speaker  had  entered  them. 

An  inability  to  judge  the  character  of  others  was  his  great 
weakness — a  weakness  which  he  himself  realized,  for  he  called 
upon  Beaumont  to  confirm  the  one  strikingly  sure,  true  appraise- 
ment which  he  exhibited,  his  admiration  for  Charalois.  Charac- 
teristically, this  weakness  seems  to  have  taken  the  form  of  a 
too-generous  estimate  of  his  fellows.  This  caused  him  to  bestow 
his  vacated  office  upon  the  harsh  and  unjust  Novall,  and  to  be 
blind  to  the  disposition  of  his  daughter,  and  the  danger  that  lay 
in  her  intimacy  with  Novall  Junior.  But  if  his  kindly  nature 
saw  the  better  side  of  even  that  contemptible  young  man,  he  at 
least  understood  him  well  enough  not  to  take  him  at  all  seriously 
as  a  suitor  for  Beaumelle's  hand. 

Of  the  Novalls,  father  and  son,  there  is  a  much  briefer  presen- 
tation. Yet  even  so,  in  the  case  of  old  Novall  we  have  as  mas- 
terly a  sketch  as  in  Romont  a  detailed  study.  His  every  word 
is  eloquent  of  his  stern,  not  to  say  mean,  nature — curt  and  severe 
towards  others,  all  prejudice  where  he  himself  is  concerned,  in- 
exorably malevolent  against  those  who  incur  his  animosity.  Yet 
it  never  enters  his  head  to  seek  the  satisfaction  of  his  hate  in 


28  THE    FATAL    DOWRY 

any  way  save  through  the  law ;  for  example,  he  does  not  seize 
upon,  or  even  think  seriously  of,  Pontalier's  proffer  of  private 
vengeance;  the  law  is  his  sphere — he  will  abuse  it  to  his  ad- 
vantage, if  he  can,  but  he  will  not  go  outside  of  it.  He  is,  in 
other  words,  the  Official  Bureaucrat  par  excellence,  and  his 
enmity  against  the  martial  house  of  the  Charaloises  and  the  rigor 
with  which  he  is  said  to  ''  cross  every  deserved  soldier  and 
scholar,"  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  detestation  in  which  Ro- 
mont  holds  him,  are  manifestations  of  the  feud  of  type  against 
type.  It  has  been  suggested  that  the  especial  fervor  with  which 
he  is  devoted  to  execration  argues  a  prototype  in  actual  life,  and 
that  in  him  is  to  be  recognized  Sir  Edward  Coke,  notorious  for 
che  savage  vindictiveness  of  his  conduct  towards  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh. 

Novall  Junior,  the  cowardly,  foppish,  and  unscrupulous  gal- 
lant, though  a  flimsy  personaHty,  affords  once  or  twice,  in  the 
Fieldian  prose,  rather  good  humor :  e.  g. — 

Nay,  o'  my  soul,  'tis  so;  what  fouler  object  in  the  world,  than 
to  see  a  young,  fair,  handsome  beauty  unhandsomely  dighted, 
and  incongruently  accoutred?  or  a  hopeful  chevalier  unmethod- 
ically appointed  in  the  external  ornaments  of  nature?  For,  even 
as  the  index  tells  us  the  contents  of  stories,  and  directs  to  the 
particular  chapters,  even  so  does  the  outward  habit  and  super- 
ficial order  of  garments  {in  man  or  womxin)  give  us  a  taste  of 
the  spirit,  and  demonstratively  point  (as  it  were  a  manual  note 
from  the  margin)  all  the  internal  quality  and  habiliment  of  the 
soul;  and  there  cannot  be  a  more  evident,  palpable,  gross  mani- 
festation of  poor,  degenerate,  dunghilly  blood  and  breeding,  than 
a  rude,  unpolished,  disordered,  and  slovenly  outside.  (IV,  i, 
48-60.) 

Of  the  remaining  characters,  only  tvv^o  call  for  especial  notice. 
The  three  Creditors  are  a  blemish  upon  the  otherwise  striking 
verisimilitude  of  the  play ;  they  are  impossible,  inhuman  monsters 
of  greed  and  relentlessness,  who  serve  as  vehicles  for  a  kind  of 
grotesque  comedy.  A  personal  rancour  on  the  part  of  the  authors 
may  have  been  responsible  for  this  presentation,  as  it  is  probable 
that  they  themselves  had  had  none-too-pleasant  experiences  with 
money-lenders.  Pontalier,  however,  is  very  well  conceived  and 
skillfully  executed.     Occupying  a  relation  to  Novall  Junior  quite 


INTRODUCTION  29 

similar  to  that  of  Romont  to  Charalois,  he  is  yet  differentiated 
from  his  parallel,  while  at  the  same  time  he  is  kept  free  from  any 
taint  of  the  despicable'ness  and  fawning-  serviHty  which  are 
chiefly  prominent  in  the  parasites  of  the  vicious  and  feather- 
brained young  lord.  There  is  something  really  pathetic  about 
this  brave,  honorable  soldier,  committed  to  the  defense  of  an 
unworthy  benefactor,  ranged  on  the  side  of  wrong  against  right, 
by  his  very  best  qualities :  his  noble  sense  of  gratitude,  his  loyalty, 
his  devotion  to  what  be  conceives  to  be  his  duty.  It  will  be  ob- 
served that  he  never  joins  with  the  rest  of  the  group  about 
Novall  Junior  in  their  jibes  against  Charalois  and  Romont. 

The  last  figure  for  consideration,  and  not  the  least  important, 
is  Beaumelle.  So  general  has  been  the  misconception  of  her 
character  that  it  calls  for  a  more  detailed  analysis  than  has  been 
accorded  to  the  other  personages  of  the  drama,  or  than  the  place 
she  occupies  might  appear  to  warrant.  That  place,  indeed,  is  not 
a  striking  one;  she  is  scarce  more  than  a  character  of  second 
rank,  appearing  in  but  few  scenes  and  speaking  not  many  lines. 
Yet  her  part  in  the  story  is  one  of  such  potentialities  that  in 
Rowe's  version  of  the  same  theme  her  analogue  becomes  the 
central  figure,  and  even  in  The  Fatal  Dowry  a  failure  to  under- 
stand her  has  probably  been  at  the  bottom  of  most  of  the  less 
favorable  judgments  that  have  been  passed  upon  the  play,  while 
•those  critics  who  appraise  it  higher  yet  acknowledge  her  to  be  its 
one  outstanding  defect.  ''  The  Fatal  Dowry,''  says  Saintsbury 
(Hist.  Eng.  Lit.,  vol.  ii,  p.  400)  "  .  .  .  is  .  .  .  injured  by  the  un- 
attractive character  of  the  light-of-love  Beaumelle  before  her 
repentance  (Massinger  never  could  draw  a  woman)."  She  is 
declared  by  Swinburne  to  be  "  too  thinly  and  feebly  drawn  to 
attract  even  the  conventional  and  theatrical  sympathy  which 
Fletcher  might  have  excited  for  a  frail  and  penitent  heroine :  and 
the  almost  farcical  insignificance  and  baseness  of  her  paramour 
would  suffice  to  degrade  his  not  involuntary  victim  beneath  the 
level  of  any  serious  interest  or  pity."  If  these  and  similar  pro- 
nouncements were  well  founded,  the  play  as  a  cross-section  of 
life  would  have  the  great  weakness  of  being  unconvincing  at  a  very 
vital  point.  A  study  of  the  text,  however,  will  discover  Beau- 
melle to  be  portrayed,  in  the  brief  compass  of  her  appearance, 
in  no  wise  inadequately,  but  rather,  if  anything,  somewhat  beyond 


30  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

the  requirements  of  her  dramatic  function — will  reveal  her,  not, 
indeed,  a  personage  of  heroic  proportions  and  qualities,  but  a 
young  woman  of  considerable  naturalness,  plausibility,  and  real- 
istic convincingness. 

The  trouble  has  probably  been  that  the  critics  of  Beaumelle 
have  passed  hastily  over  the  very  scurrilous  prose  scene  in  which 
she  first  appears.  They  have  looked  on  this  passage  as  merely  a 
piece  of  Fieldian  low-comedy,  a  coarse  bit  of  buffoonery  which 
pretends  to  no  function  save  that  of  humor,  and  can  sustain  not 
even  this  pretense.  Nothing  can  be  further  from  the  truth.  The 
passage  is  a  piece  of  coarse  comedy  such  as  Field  had  an  over- 
fondness  for  writing;  but  it  is  something  more;  in  reality,  a 
proper  understanding  of  the  heroine  is  conditioned  upon  it. 

Beaumelle  is  a  young  girl  whose  mother,  we  may  infer,  has 
long  been  dead.  The  cares  of  the  bench  have  been  too  great  to 
allow  her  father  time  for  much  personal  supervision  of  her ;  she 
has  had  for  associates  her  two  maids,  and  of  these  she  not  un- 
naturally finds  the  gay  and  witty,  but  thoroughly  depraved,  Bel- 
lapert  the  more  congenial,  and  adopts  her  as  her  mentor  and  con- 
fidant. She  is  in  love,  after  a  fashion — caught,  like  the  impres- 
sionable, uncritical  girl  she  is,  by  the  fair  exterior  of  a  young 
magnificent,  whose  elegant  dress  and  courtly  show  of  devotion 
quite  blind  her  to  his  real  worthlessness — and  there  is  scant  likeli- 
hood of  her  getting  the  man  who  has  charmed  her  fancy.  Her 
disposition  is  high-spirited  and  wayward,  but  not  deliberately 
vicious ;  she  has  certain  hazily  defined  ideals,  mingled  with  the 
same  romantic  mist  through  which  the  superfine  dandy,  Novall, 
appears  in  her  eyes  a  very  Prince  Charming :  she  "  would  meet 
love  and  marriage  both  at  once " ;  she  desires  to  preserve  her 
honor.  She  has  ideals,  but  she  doubts  their  tangibility ;  she  is  in 
an  unsettled  state  of  mind,  questioning  the  fundamentals  of  con- 
duct and  social  relationships,  in  much  need  of  good  counsel.  In 
that  perilous  mood  she  talks  with  Bellapert — Bellapert,  the  dearest 
cabinet  of  her  secrets — Bellapert,  the  bribed  instrument  of  Novall 
— and  is  told  by  that  worldly-wise  wench  that  marriage  almost 
never  unites  with  love,  but  must  be  used  as  a  cloak  for  it;  that 
honor  is  a  foolish  fancy;  that  a  husband  is  a  master  to  be  out- 
witted and  despised.     The  shaft  sinks  home  all  too  surely;  a 


INTRODUCTION  31 

visit  at  that  very  moment  by  Beaumelle's  lover  completes  the 
conquest,  when  her  father  interrupts  their  tete-a-tete — her  father, 
who  comes  with  the  anouncement  that  she  must  marry  a  man 
whom  she  does  not  even  know !  In  the  scene  where  the  destined 
bride  and  groom  are  brought  face  to  face,  she  stands  throughout 
in  stony  silence  quite  as  eloquent  as  the  more  famous  speechless- 
ness of  Charalois  at  the  beginning  of  the  play.  She  has  ever  been 
"  handmaid  "  to  her  father's  will ;  she  realizes  all  her  hopes  and 
fortunes  "have  reference  to  his  liking;"  and  now  she  obeys, 
with  the  bitter  thought  in  her  heart  that  Fate,  in  denying  her  her 
will,  has  wronged  Love  itself  (II,  ii,  154)  ;  only  when  Charalois 
turns  to  her  with  a  direct  question,  "  Fair  Beaumelle,  can  you  love 
me?  "  does  she  utter  a  word — then  from  her  lips  a  brief,  desperate, 
"Yes,  my  lord" — and  a  moment  later  (II,  ii,  315)  she  is  weep- 
ing silently.  (Her  answer  was  honest  in  as  far  as  she  really  did 
mean  to  give  to  the  man  chosen  for  her  husband  her  duty  with 
her  hand.)  Then  the  voice  of  the. tempter  whispers  in  her  ear, 
she  feels  its  tug  at  her  heart,  and  with  a  cry,  "  Oh,  servant ! — 
Virtue  strengthen  me ! "  she  hurries  from  the  room.  That  is  the 
situation  at  the  end  of  the  Second  Act  and  first  part  of  the  play ; 
an  appreciation  of  its  significance  makes  the  connection  with 
what  follows  less  arbitrary  and  inorganic. 

When  Beaumelle  next  appears,  in  the  Third  Act,  there  has 
been  a  change.  We  may  imagine  that  she  has  had  time  to  ponder 
those  cynical  maxims  of  Bellapert  on  the  natural  course  of 
romance.  Her  union  has  been  unwilling;  she  does  not  care  for 
her  husband ;  Novall  appeals  to  her  as  much  as  ever :  with  her 
eyes  open,  she  deliberately  chooses  the  path  of  sin — because  the 
enforced  marriage  which  shattered  her  hopes  must  needs  appear 
to  her  the  final  demonstration  of  the  correctness  of  her  maid's 
contention  (towards  which  she  was  already  inclining)  that  she 
has  been  foolishly  impractical  to  dream  of  the  satisfaction  of  her 
heart's  wish  through  wedlock,  but  that  it  is  by  secret  amour  that 
love  must  be,  and  is  wont  to  be,  enjoyed. 

It  may  not  be  unreasonable  to  regard  the  resourcefulness  and 
effrontery  which  characterize  her  throughout  the  Third  Act  as 
the  result  of  a  sort  of  mental  intoxication,  into  which  she  has 
been  lifted  by  her  reckless  resolve  and  the  consciousness  of 
danger;  at  any  rate  she  now  shows  herself  altogether  too  much 


32  THE    FATAL    DOWRY 

for  Romont ;  she  finds  a  shrewdness  and  an  eloquence  that  carry 
her  triumphant  to  the  consummation  of  her  desire.  When  dis- 
covery ensues,  her  paramour  is  slain,  and  she  herself  is  haled  to 
die,  she  is  overcome — abruptly  and,  one  might  say,  strangely — 
with  remorse  and  penitence.  But  it  is  not  at  all  by  one  of  those 
theatrically  convenient  but  psychologically  absurd  changes  of 
heart  so  frequent  in  the  drama  of  that  period ;  nothing,  indeed, 
could  be  more  true  to  life.  Novall  Junior,  coward  and  fop  that 
he  was,  has  hitherto  always  borne  himself  in  lordly  fashion  before 
her,  even  when  they  were  surprised  by  Romont ;  but  now  at  last 
she  beholds  him  stripped  to  the  shivering  abjectness  of  his  con- 
temptible soul,  that  she  may  observe  his  baseness.  She  sees  him 
cowed  and  beaten  and  slain,  while  Charalois  (whom  she  never 
knew  before  their  marriage  nor  has  tried  to  understand  in  the 
brief  period  of  their  wedlock)  with  his  outraged  honor  and  irre- 
sistible prowess  assumes  to  her  eyes  the  proportions  of  a  hero ; 
and  with  her  girl's  romanticism^*^  of  nature,  she  bows  down  and 
worships  him.  It  is  somewhat  the  same  note  that  is  struck  by 
Thackeray  in  the  similar  situation  where  Rawdon  Crawley,  re- 
turning home  unexpectedly,  finds  his  wife  with  Lord  Steyne  and 
knocks  the  man  down. 

It  zuas  all  done  before  Rebecca  could  interpose.  She  stood 
there  trembling  before  him.  She  admired  her  husband,  strong, 
brave,  victorious. 

So  it  was  with  Beaumelle.  Except  for  one  brief  cry  of  "  Un- 
done for  ever ! "  she  utters  no  word  from  the  moment  of  the  sur- 
prise to  the  end  of  the  Scene.  She  hangs  back,  shrinking,  for  a 
moment,  when  ordered  into  the  coach  with  the  dead  body  of  her 
partner  in  guilt.  "Come,"  says  Charalois,  in  terrible  jest,  "you 
have  taught  me  to  say,  you  must  and  shall.  .  .  .  You  are  but  to 
keep  him  company  you  love — "  and  she  obeys  mutely. 

Thus,  all  contriteness,  Beaumelle  goes  to  her  fate.  It  should 
be  observed  how,  even  at  the  last,  her  tendency  to  romantic  ideal- 
ization vehemently  asserts  itself;  she  looks  fondly  back  (IV,  iv, 

i<^  This  is  all  the  more  rampant  in  that  it  is  suddenly  called  back  into 
activity  after  its  period  of  obscuration  while  she  yielded  herself  to  a  cyn- 
ical, immoral  opportunism,  and  is  now  brought,  by  a  fearful  shock,  to 
confront  higher  ethical  values  and  real  manhood.  For  this  time  she  is 
given  not  a  Novall  but  a  Charalois  to  idealize. 


INTRODUCTION  '  33 

53)  to  an  imagined  time,  which  never  really  existed,  when  she 
was  "good"  and  "a  part  of"  Charalois,  made  one  with  him 
through  the  virtuous  harmony  of  their  minds ! — no  voice  is  more 
unfaltering  than  her  own  to  pronounce  her  doom  as  both  righteous 
and  necessary,  and  she  conceives  herself  to  climb,  by  her  ecstatic 
welcoming  of  death,  into  the  company  of  the  ancient  heroines  and 
martyrs.  In  its  realism  of  the  commonplace  and  its  slightly  ironic 
conception,  it  is  the  outline  drawing  of  a  character  that  might 
have  received  elaborate  portraiture  at  the  hands  of  Flaubert. 

Whether  we  are  to  regard  this  consistent  "  study  in  little  "  as  a 
deliberate  piece  of  work  on  the  part  of  the  authors,  must  remain 
a  matter  of  opinion.  There  is  no  similar  figure  elsewhere  in  the 
dramatic  output  of  Massinger,  nor  any  quite  so  minutely  con- 
ceived within  the  same  number  of  speech-lines  in  that  of  Field, 
and  one  could  scarce  be  blamed  for  believing  that  a  number  of 
hap-hazard,  sketchy  strokes  with  which  the  collaborators  dashed 
off  a  character  whom  they  deemed  of  no  great  importance,  all  so 
fell  upon  the  canvas  that,  by  a  miracle  of  chance,  they  went  to 
form  the  Hneaments  of  a  real  woman.  The  discussion  of  the 
probability  or  possibility  of  such  a  hypothesis  would  carry  us 
very  far  afield,  and  would  involve  the  question  of  the  extent  to 
which  all  genius  is  unconscious  and  intuitive.  But  however  that 
may  be,  the  result  of  their  labors  remains  the  same,  there  to 
behold  in  black  and  white,  and  Beaumelle,  so  far  from  being  a 
poorly  conceived  and  unsatisfactory  wanton  who  is  the  chief 
defect  of  the  play,  is  a  figure  of  no  mean  verisimilitude  who  suc- 
ceeds after  a  fashion  in  linking  together  the  loose-knit  dual  struc- 
ture of  the  drama;  to  whose  main  catastrophe  she  adds  her  own 
tragedy,  a  tragedy  neither  impressive  nor  deeply  stirring,  it  is 
true,  for  she  is  a  petty  spirit  from  whom  great  tragedy  does  not 
proceed — but  tragedy  still — the  eternal,  inevitable  tragedy  of  false 
romanticism,  that  has  found  its  culmination  in  the  person  of 
Emma  Bovary. 

In  this  study  of  Beaumelle,  The  Fatal  Dowry  has  been  sub- 
jected to  a  much  more  intensive  examination  than  it  is  the  custom 
to  bestow  upon  the  dramas  of  the  successors  of  Shakespeare. 
The  truth  is  that  the  plays  of  the  Jacobean  period  do  not,  as  a 
rule,  admit  of  such  analysis.  In  most  of  them,  and  especially  in 
the  plays  of  Massinger,  he  who  searches  and  probes  them  comes 


34  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

presently  to  a  point  beyond  which  critical  inquiry  is  stopped  short 
with  a  desperate  finality ;  be  they  ever  so  strikingly  splendid  and 
glittering  fair  in  their  poetry  and  their  characterization,  these 
dazzling  qualities  lie  upon  the  surface,  and  a  few  careful  perusals 
exhaust  their  possibilities  and  tell  us  all  there  is  to  know  of  them. 
But  The  Fatal  Dowry,  though  less  imposing  than  a  number  of 
others,  stands  almost  alone  among  its  contemporaries  in  sharing 
with  the  great  creations  of  Shakespeare  the  power  to  open  new 
vistas,  to  present  new  aspects,  to  offer  new  suggestions,  the  longer 
it  is  studied.  Perhaps  this  is  due  to  the  fact  that,  as  has  already 
been  said,  it  is  not  so  much  a  tragedy  of  the  accepted  type  as  a 
cross-section  of  life. 

How  does  it  come  about,  we  may  well  ask,  that  this  play  pos- 
sesses qualities  so  rare  and  so  strangely  at  variance  with  those 
which  are  normal  to  the  work  of  Massinger — its  masterly  por- 
trait-gallery of  dramatis  personae  and  its  inexhaustible  field  for 
interpretation.  We  can  suspect  an  answer  only  in  the  comple- 
mentary nature  of  the  two  minds  that  went  to  fashion  it — in  the 
union  in  this  one  production  of  the  talents  of  Massinger  and  of 
Field. 

A  reference  to  the  analysis  of  collaboration  discloses  that,  so 
far  as  the  actual  writing  of  the  play  goes,  the  figure  of  Novall 
Senior  is  altogether  the  work  of  Massinger.  His  son,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  almost  entirely  the  work  of  Field ;  in  Massinger's 
share  he  appears  only  in  the  first  part  of  HI,  i,  and  in  the  scene 
of  his  surprisal  and  death.  Indeed,  both  the  young  gallant  him- 
self and  all  his  satellites  can  safely  be  put  down  as  creations  of  the 
actor-dramatist.  They  have  their  parallels  in  his  comedy  of 
Woman  is  a  Weathercock,  down  to  the  page  whose  pert  asides 
of  satiric  comment  are  anticipated  in  the  earlier  work  by  those  ^f 
a  youngster  of  identical  kidney.  The  long  scene  in  which  we  are 
introduced  to  Beaumelle  and  given  insight  into  her  character  and 
mental  attitude  is  Field's  throughout;  thereafter  she  has  only  to 
act  out  her  already-revealed  nature — first  as  the  impudent  adul- 
teress and  later  as  the  repentent  sinner,  in  both  of  which  roles  she 
affords  Massinger  excellent  opportunities  to  display  his  favorite 
powers  of  speech-making.  Charalois,  Romont,  and  Rochfort  are 
treated  at  length  by  both  dramatists. 

But  in  a  harmonious  collaboration,  such  as  The  Fatal  Dowry 


INTRODUCTION  35 

plainly  was,  the  contributions  of  the  two  authors  cannot  be  iden- 
tified with  the  passages  from  their  respective  pens.  Each  must 
inevitably  have  planned,  suggested,  criticised.  The  question  re- 
mains whether  we  can  in  any  measure  determine  what  part  of  the 
conception  was  due  to  each.  Beyond  the  Novall  Junior  group 
we  cannot  establish  distinct  lines  of  cleavage.  What  we  can  do 
is  to  suggest  the  features  of  the  finished  product  jvhich  Field  and 
Massinger  brought  severally  to  its  making — to  point  out  the  quali- 
ties of  the  two  men  vrfi-ich  were  joined  to  produce  the  play  they 
have  given  us. 

The  outstanding  excellences  of  Massinger  were  a  thorough 
grasp  of  the  architectonics  of  play-making  in  the  building  both  of 
separate  Act  and  entire  drama ;  an  adherence  to  an  essential  unity 
of  design  and  treatment;  a  conscientious  regard  to  the  details  of 
stage-craft ;  a  vehicle  of  dignified  and  at  times  noble  verse,  with- 
out violent  conceits  or  lapses  into  triviality,  sustained,  lucid,  reg- 
ular; and  a  genuine  eloquence  in  forensic  passages.  His  chief 
weaknesses  were  a  certain  stiffness  of  execution  which  made  his 
plays  appear  always  as  structures  rather  than  organisms,  a  pon- 
derous monotony  of  fancy,  and  an  inability  to  create  or  repro- 
duce or  understand  human  nature.  His  characters  are  normally 
types,  their  qualities — honor,  virtue,  'bravery,  etc. — mere  prop- 
erties which  they  can  assume  or  lay  aside  at  pleasure  like  gar- 
ments, their  conduct  governed  more  by  the  exigencies  of  plot 
than  by  any  conceivable  psychology.     . 

The  weaknesses  of  Field — as  revealed  in  his  two  independent 
comedies — were  of  a  nature  more  evasive,  less  capable  of  defini- 
tion. A  tendency  to  weave  too  many  threads  into  the  action,  an 
occasional  hasty  and  skimping  treatment  of  his  scenes  which 
leaves  them  unconvincing  for  lack  of  sufficient  elaboration,  and 
a  general  thinness  of  design  and  workmanship  are;,  discoverable. 
Defects  such  as  these  could  be  readily  corrected  by  association 
with  the  single-minded,  painstaking,  thorough  Massinger.  On 
the  other  hand  he  possessed  a  lightness  of  touch,  a  blithe  vigor, 
and  a  racy,  though  often  obscene,  humor  foreign  to  his  colleague. 
What  is  more  important,  he  possessed  a  considerable  first-hand 
knowledge  of  men  and  women,  and  an  ability  to  put  them  in  his 
plays  and  endow  them  with  something  of  life — not  to  conceive 
great  figures,  such  as  dominate  the  imagination,  but  to  reproduce 


36  THE    FATAL    DOWRY 

with  vitality  and  freshness  the  sort  of  people  he  saw  about  him — 
in  other  words,  not  to  create  but  to  depict ;  and  furthermore  Field 
seems  to  have  had  a  special  gift  for  sketching  them  rather  clearly 
in  a  very  brief  compass. ^^  Mr.  Saintsbury  was  right  in  declar- 
ing that  Massinger  never  could  draw  a  woman.  But  Field  could, 
and  the  critic  was  rather  unfortunate  in  applying  his  broadly 
correct  observation  to  the  one  woman  of  Massinger's  in  the 
deHneation  of  whom  he  had  Field  to  help  him! 

With  these  facts  in  mind,  the  distinctive  virtues  of  The 
Fatal  Dowry  can  be  accounted  for.  Massinger  here  possessed  a 
colleague  who  had  just  those  talents  of  insight  and  verve  and 
grasp  of  life  that  were  denied  his  own  plodding,  bookishly 
learned  mind.  Not  only  young  Novall  and  his  satellites,  but 
Beaumelle  certainly,  and  probably  Pontalier  (whom  Massinger. 
would  have  been  more  likely  to  degrade  to  the  baseness  of  No- 
vall's  other  dependents)  may  be  put  down  as  essentially  Field's 
creations,  while  in  the  case  of  the  others  he  was  ever  at  Mas- 
singer's  elbow  to  guard  him  against  blunders,  if,  indeed,  their 
preliminary  mapping  out  of  the  rather  obvious  lines  along  which 
the  action  and  characters  must  develop  were  not  of  itself  a  suffi- 
ciently sure  guide.  To  Massinger,  on  the  other  hand,  may  safely 
be  ascribed  the  basic  conception  of  such  stately  figures  as  Chara- 
lois  and  Rochfort,  however  much  Field  may  have  been  respon- 
sible for  preserving  them  as  fresh  and  living  portraits. 

As  to  share  in  plot  structure,  in  the  absence  of  any  known 
source,  we  may  conjecture  that  the  germ  from  which  the  play 
evolved  was  the  conception  of  that  situation  by  which  Charalois, 
burdened  as  he  is  with  an  immense  debt  of  thankfulness  to  Roch- 
fort, finds  himself  suddenly  called  by  the  imperative  demands  of 

11  See  the  figure  of  Captain  Pouts  in  Woman  is  a  Weathercock.  He 
might  easily  have  been  made  a  mere  miles  gloriosus;  instead  he  is  a  real 
man, — coarse,  revengeful,  dissolute,  quarrelsome,  hectoring — no  doubt  at 
heart  a  coward,  but  not  more  absurdly  so  in  the  face  of  his  pretensions 
than  many  of  his  type  in  actual  life.  For  characters  clearly  visualized  in 
a  few  simple  strokes,  may  be  noted  in  the  same  play  Lady  Ninny,  Lucida, 
and,  apart  from  one  speech  (M.  356-7)  out  of  character  obviously  for 
comic  effect,  Kate;  in  Amends  for  Ladies,  Ingen.  Examples  of  Field's 
power  in  more  idealistic  work  may  be  found  in  The  Knight  of  Malta  in 
the  delineation  of  Montferrat's  passion  (I,  i)  and  in  the  scene  between 
Miranda  and  Oriana  (V,  i). 


INTRODUCTION  37 

honor  to  do  that  which  will  strike  his  benefactor  to  the  heart. 
The  grounding  of  the  hero's  debt  of  gratitude  in  the  story  of  Mil- 
tiades  and  Cimon  was  probably  the  work  of  Massinger,  of  whose 
veneration  for  things  classic  we  have  abundant  evidence,  while 
to  him  also,  we  may  believe,  was  due  the  shaping  of  the  story  in 
such  fashion  that  he  had  opportunity  to  exploit  his  greatest  gift 
in  no  less  than  two  formal  trials,  one  informal  trial,  and  a  long 
Act  besides  given  over  almost  exclusively  to  verbose  disputes 
and  exhortations.  TKe  circumstances  of  the  discovery  of  the 
amour  of  Beaumelle  and  Novall,  while  penned  by  Massinger,  are 
more  likely  an  invention  of  Field's,  not  only  as  faintly  reminis- 
cent of  his  Amends  for  Ladies,  but  as  according  better  with  the 
general  spirit  of  his  work. 

Several  plays  of  the  Massinger  corpus  are  more  striking  on 
first  acquaintance  than  The  Fatal  Dowry,  and  yet  others  surpass 
it  in  regard  to  this  feature  or  that.  It  has  not  the  gigantic  pro- 
tagonist of  A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts,  or  the  admirable 
structure  of  that  fine  play,  which  works  with  ever-cumulating 
intensity  to  one  final,  tremendous  climax.  It  has  not  the  im- 
pressiveness  of  The  Duke  of  Milan,  or  its  sheer  sweep  of  tragic 
passion  and  breathless  intensity,  or  anything  so  compelling  as  its 
great  scene  of  gathering  jealousy  that  breaks  forth  at  last  in 
murder.  Its  verse  is  less  poetic  than  that  of  The  Maid  of  Honor; 
it  lacks  the  charm  of  The  Great  Duke  of  Florence,  and  the  ethical 
fervor  of  The  Roman  Actor.  But  in  utter  reality,  in  convincing 
simulation  of  Hfe,  which  holds  good  under  the  most  exhaustive 
study  and  makes  that  study  forever  continue  to  yield  new  sug- 
gestions and  new  appreciations,  and  in  abundance  and  inherent 
truthfulness  of  detailed  characterization,  it  stands  alone,  and 
these  sterling  qualities  must  so  outweigh  its  defects  as  to  insure 
for  it  a  high  place,  not  only  among  the  productions  of  its  authors, 
but  among  the  plays  of  the  Jacobean  Period  as  a  whole. 

Stage  History — Adaptations — Derivatives 

Beyond  the  statement  on  the  title-page  of  the  1632  Quarto, 
that  The  Fatal  Dowry  had  been  "  often  acted  at  the  Private  House 
in  Blackfriars  by  his  Majesties  Servants,"  nothing  is  known  of 
its  early  stage  history.    It  was  not  revived  after  the  Restoration, 


38  •       THE   FATAL   DOWRY 

and  until  the  publication  of  the  Coxeter  edition  of  Massinger 
seems  to  have  been  almost  unknown.  At  last,  in  1825,  an 
emended. version  was  placed  upon  the  boards  by  no  less  an  actor 
than  the  great  Macready.  January  5  of  that  year  was  the  date, 
and  Drury  Lane  the  place,  of  its  initial  performance,  Macready 
himself  taking  the  part  of  Romont,  Wallack — Charalois,  Terry — 
Rochfort,  and  Mrs.  W.  West — Beaumelle.  ''The  play  was  well 
acted  and  enthusiastically  applauded,"  says  Macready  in  his 
Reminiscences  (p.  228)  ;  "  its  repetition  for  the  following  Tues- 
day was  hailed  most  rapturously ;  but  Friday^^  came,  and  with  it 
a  crowded  house,  to  find  me  laboring  under  such  indisposition 
that  it  was  with  difficulty  I  could  keep  erect  without  support." 
Macready's  serious  illness  cut  short  the  run  of  the  play,  and  when 
he  was  at  length  (April  11)  able  to  take  it  up  again,  the  interest 
of  the  public  had  abated,  and  it  in  consequence  was  repeated  only 
•a  few  times — seven  being  the  total  number  of  its  performances. 
The  variant  of  The  Fatal  Dowry  in  which  Macready  acted  was 
the  work  of  Shell,  and  involved  substantial  divergences.  Ro- 
mont's  release  from  prison  follows  immediately  upon  Novall 
Senior's  consent  to  his  pardon,  and  in  consequence,  together  with 
his  conversation  with  Rochfort,  is  transferred  from  Act  II  to  the 
close  of  Act  I,  while  the  redemption  of  Charalois  takes  place  at 
the  funeral  of  his  father,  which  concludes  Act  II.  For  the  scene 
between  Beaumelle  and  her  maids  is  substituted  another  coloquy 
of  similar  import  but  chastened  tone.  A  brief  scene  of  no  especial 
significance  is  inserted  at  the  beginning  of  Act  III,  in  the  interval 
between  which  and  the  preceding  Act  three  weeks  are  supposed 
to  have  elapsed ;  the  rest  of  Act  III  follows  much  the  same  course 
as  the  original,  save  that  the  application  of  Romont  to  Rochfort 
and  his  foiling  by  the  stratagem  of  Beaumelle  and  Bellapert  are 
omitted.  A  really  notable  departure  is  found  in  the  discovery 
of  the  amour  by  Charalois.  According  to  Shell,  Novall  Junior 
and  his  mistress  attempt  to  elope,  but  the  note  which  appoints 
their  rendezvous  falls  into  Charalois'  hands,  and  he  waits  for  the 
lovers  and  surprises  them,  killing  Novall  off-stage.  The  Fifth 
Act  opens  with  a  scene  of  a  few  lines  only,  in  which  Beaumont 
bears  to  Rochfort  a  request  from  Charalois  to  meet  him  in  the 
church  yard.     Then  follows  a  lugubrious  scene  in  the  dead  of 

12  Apparently  The  Fatal  Dowry  was  not  performed  every  day. 


INTRODUCTION  39 

night  beside  the  tomb  of  the  hero's  father,  to  which  place  are 
transferred  the  reconcihation  between  Charalois  and  Romont, 
and  the  judgment  of  Rochfort!  Beaumelle,  however,  does  not 
appear  during  the  trial,  and  upon  the  paternal  sentence  of  doom, 
Charalois  reveals  her  body,  slain  already  by  his  hand.  To  the 
father  he  vindicates  his  action  in  much  the  same  words  as  in 
Massinger's  last  court-room  scene,  and  then,  on  the  appearance 
of  Novall  Senior  clamoring  for  vengeance  and  accompanied  by 
the  minions  of  the  lawr  stabs  himself. 

The  version  of  Shell  follows  with  but  occasional  exceptions 
the  language  of  the  original  wherever  possible.  It  makes  some 
slight  changes  in  the  minor  characters. 

Shell's  redaction  was  also  presented  at  Bath  on  February  i8 
and  21,  Romont  being  acted  by  Hamblin,  Charalois  by  Warde, 
Beaumelle  by  Miss  E.  Tree.  "  Hamblin  never  appeared  to  so 
much  advantage — in  the  scene  with  Novall  he  reminded  one 
strongly  of  John  Kemble,"  says  Genest  {Hist.  Dra.  and  Stage  in 
Eng.,  IX,  322). 

At  Sadler's  Wells,  Samuel  Phelps,  who  at  that  time  was  reviv- 
ing a  number  of  the  old  dramas,  took  the  stage  in  The  Fatal 
Dowry  on  August  2y,  1845.  •  This,  however,  was  Shell's  version, 
and  not  the  original  play  of  Massinger  and  Field,  as  has  been 
sometimes  supposed.  It  ranked  as  one  of  his  four  chief  pro- 
ductions of  that  year.  He,  too,  chose  for  himself  the  part  of 
Romont,  which  was  considered  by  many  his  greatest  quasi-tragic 
role.  Marston  appeared  as  Charalois,  G.  Bennett  as  Rochfort, 
and  Miss  Cooper  as  Beaumelle. 

The  Fatal  Dowry  in  substantially  its  own  proper  form  does 
not  appear  ever  to  have  been  acted  after  Jacobean  times. 

If  the  stage  career  of  The  Fatal  Dowry  has  been  meagre,  not 
so  the  extent  of  its  influence.  Its  literary  parenthood  begins  be- 
fore "  the  closing  of  the  theatres  "  and  continues  even  to  our  own 
day.  As  early  as  1638  it  was  echoed  in  The  Lady's  Trial  of 
Ford.  Here  the  figures  of  Auria,  Adurni,  Aurelio,  and  Spinella 
correspond  roughly  with  Charalois,  young  Novall,  Romont,  and 
Beaumelle  respectively.  Auria  has  gone  to  the  wars,  and  in  his 
absence  his  wife  is  pursued  by  Adurni,  who  sits  at  table  with  her 
in  private,  when  Aurelio  breaks  in  upon  them,  bursting  open  the 


40  THE    FATAL    DOWRY 

doors.  Spinella  bitterly  resents  the  intrusion  and  the  aspersions 
of  the  intruder,  and  when,  on  the  return  home  of  Auria,  Aureho 
accuses  her  to  him,  it  is  without  shaking  his  faith  in  her  loyalty. 
Here  the  analogy  ends :  spite  of  Auria's  incredulousness  there  is 
no  rupture  between  the  friends;  Spinella  establishes  her  inno- 
cence; and  Adurni,.  while  guilty  enough  in  his  intent  against  her, 
shows  himself  thereafter  to  be  an  essentially  noble  youth,  who 
will  defend  to  any  length  the  lady's  honor  which  has  become 
subject  to  question  through  fault  of  his,  and  for  this  gallant 
reparation,  is  not  only  forgiven,  but  even  cherished  ever  after  by 
the  husband  he  had  sought  to  wrong. 

The  more  steadily  one  regards  the  man  John  Ford  and  his 
work,  the  more  probable  does  it  appear  that  the  relationship  be- 
tween The  Fatal  Dowry  and  The  Lady's  Trial  is  not  one  of  mere 
reminiscence  or  influence,  but  of  direct  parentage.  That  strange 
and  baleful  figure,  who  seems  almost  a  modern  Decadent  born 
out  of  his  time,  had  a  profound  interest  in  moral  problems,  to  the 
study  of  which  he  brought  morbid  ethical  sensibilities  scarce 
matched  before  the  latter  nineteenth  century.  (Witness  his  con- 
ception, in  The  Broken  Heart,  of  a  loveless  marriage  as  tanta- 
mount to  adultery.)  Ford's  talent  for  invention  was  deficient  to 
the  extent  that  he  was  hard  put  to  it  for  plots.  It  is  not  at  all 
unlikely  that  he  surveyed  the  Massingerian  tragedy,  and,  repelled 
by  the  conduct  of  its  figures,  exclaimed  to  himself :  "  I  will  write 
a  play  to  centre  around  a  situation  as  incriminating  as  that  of  Act 
III  of  The  Fatal  Dozwy;  but  my  personages  will  be  worthier 
characters ;  I  will  show  a  lady  who,  spite  of  appearances,  is  of 
stainless  innocence  and  vindicates  her  husband's  trust  in  the  face 
of  evidence ;  I  will  show  a  friendship  strong  enough  to  endure  an 
honestly  mistaken  aspersion  put  upon  the  chastity  of  a  wife, 
though  the  charge  is  not  for  one  moment  credited;  I  will  show 
that  even  the  would-be  seducer  may  be  a  fine  fellow  at  bottom, 
and  set  forth  a  generous  emulation  in  magnanimity  between  him 
and  the  husband.  See  how  finely  everything  would  work  out 
with  the  right  sort  of  people ! "  It  is  at  least  a  plausible  hy- 
pothesis. 

Nicholas  Rowe,  who  was  the  first  modern  editor  of  Shake- 
speare, contemplated  also  an  edition  of  Massinger,  but  gave  up 
the  project  that  he  might  more  safely  plunder  one  of  his  plays. 


INTRODUCTION  41 

Rowe's  famous  tragedy,  The  Fair  Penitent,  was  deliberately 
stolen  from  The  Fatal  Doivry.  It  appeared  in  1703,  and  spite 
of  a  ludicrous  accident^^  which  cut  short  its  first  run,  took  rank 
as  one  of  the  most  celebrated  dramas  of  the  English  stage.  Rowe 
lived  during  the  vogue  of  the  "  She-tragedy,"  while  the  canons 
of  literary  criticism  of  his  day  demanded  a  "regular,"  pseudo- 
classical  form  and  a  sententious  tone.  Accordingly,  in  his  hands 
the  chief  figure  in  the  play,  as  is  evidenced  by  the  change  in  title, 
becomes  the  guilty  wi^,  here  called  Calista,  who  is  "now  the 
evil  queen  of  the  heroic  plays ;  now  the  lachrymose  morahzer ;" 
the  theme  is  indeed  her  story,  not  Altamont's  (Charalois) — her 
seduction  (prior  to  the  nuptuals  and  before  the  opening  of  the 
play),  her  grief,  her  plight,  her  exposure,  her  death; — she  holds 
the  centre  of  the  stage  to  the  very  end.  The  number  of  the 
dramatis  personae  is  cut  down  to  eight;  all  touches  of  comedy 
are  excised;  and  the  double  plot  of  the  original  is  unified  by  the 
bold  stroke  of  throwing  back  to  a  time  before  the  opening  of  the 
play  the  entire  episode  of  the  unburied  corpse  and  the  origin  of 
the  hero's  friendship  with  the  father  of  the  heroine. 

Discussions  of  the  relative  merits  of  The  Fair  Penitent  and  its 
source  have  been  almost  invariably  acrimonious.  Nor  is  this  to 
be  wondered  at,  for  after  reading  the  old  tragedy  with  its  severe 
dignity  and  noble  restraint,  one  can  scarce  peruse  without  irri- 
tation the  cloyingly  melifluous,  emasculated  verse  of  Rowe — by 

1^  During  the  run  of  this  play  one  Warren,  who  was  Powell's  dresser, 
claimed  a  right  of  lying  for  his  master  and  performing  the  dead  part  of 
Lothario — about  the  middle  of  the  scene  Powell  called  for  Warren ;  who 
as  loudly  replied  from  the  stage,  "Here  Sir" — Powell  (who  was  ignorant 
of  the  part  his  man  was  doing)  repeated  without  loss  of  time,  "  Come 
here  this  moment  you  Son  of  a  Whore  or  I'll  break  all  the  bones  in  your 
skin  " — Warren  knew  his  hasty  temper,  and  therefore  without  any  reply 
jumped  up  with  all  his  sables  about  him,  which  unfortunately  were  tied 
to  the  handles  of  the  bier  and  dragged  after  him — but  this  was  not  all — 
the  laugh  and  roar  began  in  the  audience  and  frightened  poor  Warren  so 
much  that  with  the  bier  at  his  tail  he  threw  down  Calista  and  overwhelmed 
her,  with  the  table,  lamp,  books,  bones,  &c. — he  tugged  till  he  broke  off  his 
trammels  and  made  his  escape,  and  the  play  at  once  ended  with  immod- 
erate fits  of  laughter — Betterton  would  not  suffer  The  Fair  Penitent  to 
be  played  again,  till  poor  Warren's  misconduct  was  somewhat  forgotten — 
this  story  was  told  to  Chetwood  by  Bowman  [Sciolto] — (Genest,  II, 
281-2). 


42  THE    FATAL    DOWRY 

turns  grandiloquent  and  sentimental.  The  characterization  of 
The  Fair  Penitent  is,  in  the  main,  insipid,  and  while  Rowe's 
heroine  holds  a  commanding  place  in  her  drama  to  which  Beau- 
melle  does  not  pretend,  the  latter  is  a  great  deal  more  natural, 
and  indeed,  for  that  matter,  far  more  truly  a  "  penitent."  An  ex- 
ception to  the  general  insipidity  is  Lothario,  who  is  the  analogue 
of  the  insignificant  Novall  Junior — "  the  gay  Lothario  " — whose 
very  name  has  been  ever  since  a  synonym  for  the  graceful,  grace- 
less, devil-may-care  libertine — whose  figure  has  been  the  proto- 
type of  a  long  line  of  similar  characters  in  English  Hterature, 
beginning  with  Richardson's  Lovelace  and  not  yet  closed  with 
Anthony  Hope's  Rupert  of  Hentzau.  Beside  this  striking  crea- 
tion, the  seducer  of  Beaumelle  shows  poorly  indeed;  but  it  is 
doubtful  if  the  old  dramatists  would  have  consented  to  paint 
such  an  attractive  rogue,  had  they  been  able;  they  wanted  their 
Novall  to  be  just  the  cowardly,  dandyfied  thing  they  made  him. 
Beyond  the  portrait  of  Lothario,  small  ground  for  praise  can  be 
found  in  The  Fair  Penitent.  That  part  of  the  action  of  The 
Fatal  Dowry  which  under  Rowe's  treatment  antedates  the  rise 
of  the  curtain  is  narrated  in  the  most  stiffly  mechanical  sort  of 
exposition;  the  action  is  developed  by  such  threadbare  theatrical 
devices  as  a  lost  letter  and  an  overheard  conversation ;  the  voluble 
speeches  of  the  several  characters  are,  throughout,  declamatory 
effusions  almost  unbelievably  divorced  from  the  apposite  utter- 
ance of  any  rational  human  being  under  the  circumstances.  An 
Altamont  who  has  been  assured  and  reassured  from  his  bride's 
own  lips  of  her  aversion  for  him  can  fling  himself  from  a  quarrel 
with  his  life-long  friend  in  hysterical  defence  of  her,  to  seek 
solace  in  her  arms — 

There  if  in  any  pause  of  love  I  rest 
Breathless  with  bliss  upon  her  panting  breast, 
In  broken,  melting  accents  I  will  swear, 
Henceforth  to  trust  my  heart  with  none  save  her; 

a  Sciolto  who  has  given  his  daughter  a  dagger  with  which  to  end 
her  shame,  and  then  has  arrested  her  willing  arm  with  the  prayer 
that  she  will  not  dispatch  herself  until  he  is  gone  from  the  sight 
of  her,  can  thereupon  take  leave  of  her  with  the  statement : 

There  is  I  know  not  what  of  sad  presage 
That  tells  me  I  shall  never  see  thee  more. 


INTRODUCTION  43 

The  play,  which  enjoyed  an  immense  fame,  high  contemporary 
appreciation,  and  a  long  career  on  the  stage,  remains  a  curious 
memorial  of  the  taste  of  a  bygone  day. 

It  is  noteworthy  that  in  The  Fair  Penitent  Horatio,  as  Romont 
in  all  modern  reproductions  of  The  Fatal  Dowry,  is  the  great 
acting  part — not  the  husband. 

In  1758  was  produced  at  the  Haymarket  a  drama  entitled  The 
Insolvent  or  Filial  Piety,  from  the  pen  of  Aaron  Hill.  In  the 
preface  it  is  said — according  to  Genest  (IV,  538) — "  Wilks  about 
30  years  before  gave  an  old  manuscript  play,  called  the  Guiltless 
Adulteress,  to  Theo.  Gibber  who  was  manager  of  what  then  was 
the  Summer  Gompany — after  an  interval  of  several  years  this 
play  was  judged  to  want  a  revisal  to  fit  it  for  representation — 
Aaron  Hill  at  the  request  of  Theo.  Gibber  almost  new  wrote  the 
whole,  and  the  last  act  was  entirely  his  in  conduct,  sentiment  and 
diction."  In  reality.  The  Insolvent  is  The  Fatal  Dowry  over 
again,  altered  to  tragicomedy,  and  with  the  names  of  the  char- 
acters changed.  The  first  two  Acts  of  Hill's  play  proceed  much 
after  the  manner  of  its  prototype,  with  close  parallels  in  language. 
From  thenceforward,  however,  the  action  diverges.  The  bride, 
Amelia,  resists  the  further  attentions  of  her  former  sweetheart. 
They  are  none  the  less  observed  and  suspected  by  her  husband's 
friend,  who  speaks  of  the  matter  to  both  her  father  and  her  lord. 
The  former  promises  to  observe  her  with  watchful  eye ;  Ghalons, 
the  husband,  is  at  first  resentful  of  the  imputation,  but  presently 
yields  to  his  friend's  advice,  that  he  pretend  a  two-days'  journey, 
from  which  he  will  return  unexpectedly.  During  his  absence, 
his  wife's  maid  introduces  the  lover  into  her  mistress'  chamber 
while  AmeHa  sleeps.  There  Ghalons  surprises  him  kneeling  be- 
side the  bed,  and  kills  him.  Amelia  stabs  herself,  but  the  con- 
fession of  her  maid  reveals  her  innocence,  and  her  wound  is 
pronounced  not  mortal. 

It  has  been  suggested  (Biographia  Dramatica,  II,  228 — quoted 
by  Phelan,  p.  59,  and  Schwarz,  p.  74)  that  in  Hill's  Zara  (adap- 
tation of  the  Zaire  of  Voltaire),  also,  Nerestan's  voluntary  return 
to  captivity  in  order  to  end  that  of  his  friends,  whom  he  lacked 
the  means  to  ransom  with  gold,  was  suggested  by  the  behavior 
of  Gharalois ;  but  this  can  be  no  more  than  a  coincidence,  as  it 
here  but  reproduces  what  is  in  the  French  original. 


44  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

A  long  interval,  and  finally,  in  the  dawn  of  the  twentieth  cen- 
tury, there  appeared  the  next  and  latest  recrudescence  of  The 
Fatal  Dowry.  This  was  Der  Graf  von  Charolais,  ein  Trauerspiel, 
by  Richard  Beer-Hofmann,  disciple  of  the  Neo-Romantic  School 
or  Vienna  Decadents,  a  coterie  built  about  the  leadership  of  Hugo 
von  Hofmannsthal.  Beer-Hofmann's  play — a  five-Act  tragedy 
in  blank  verse — was  produced  for  the  first  time  at  the  Neue 
Theatre,  Berlin,  on  December  24,  1904,  and  was  received  with 
considerable  acclaim.  Unlike  Rowe,  he  gives  full  credit  to  his 
source,  from  which  he  has  drawn  no  less  extensively  than  the 
author  of  The  Fair  Penitent.  Unlike  Rowe,  he  goes  back  to  the 
old  dramatists  in  the  matter  of  construction,  placing  upon  the 
stage  once  more  the  episode  of  the  unburied  corpse  and  the  noble 
son;  he  even  outdoes  The  Fatal  Dowry  in  this  respect,  by  allow- 
ing the  first  half  of  his  plot  three  Acts  instead  of  two,  with  only 
two  Acts  for  the  amour  and  its  tragic  consequences.  In  his  hands 
the  hero  again  becomes  the  central  figure ;  in  fact,  the  three  prin- 
cipal versions  of  this  donnee  suggest  by  their  titles  their  respective 
viewpoints :  The  Fatal  Dowry;  The  Fair  Penitent;  Der  Graf  von 
Charolais.  DER  GRAF  VON  CHAROLAIS,  be  it  observed; 
— this  new  redaction  is  no  longer  the  tale  of  a  "  fatal  dowry ;" 
no  longer  is  the  first  part  of  the  dual  theme  merely  introductory 
and  accessory — it  is  coordinate  with  the  second.  Beer-Hofmann 
has  sought  to  achieve  a  kind  of  unity  from  his  double  plot  by 
making  his  fundamental  theme  not  the  adulterous  intrigue,  but 
the  destiny  of  Charolais,  thus  converting  the  play  into  a  Tragedy 
of  Fate,  which  pursues  the  hero  inexorably  through  all  his  life. 
This  strictly  classical  motif  animating  the  donnee  of  a  Jacobean 
play  reproduced  in  the  twentieth  century  presents,  as  might  be  ex- 
pected, the  aspect  of  an  exotic  growth,  which  is  not  lessened  by 
the  extreme  sensuousness  of  treatment  throughout,  such  as  has 
always  been  one  of  the  cardinal  and  distinctive  qualities  of  the 
Decadent  School  the  world  over.  But  as  a  contrast  in  the  dra- 
matic technique  and  verse  of  Jacobean  and  modern  times,  Der 
Graf  von  Charolais  is  extremely  interesting.  The  difiference  is 
striking  between  the  severe  simplicity  of  three  centuries  ago,  and 
the  elaborate  stagecraft  of  to-day,  its  insistence  on  detail,  and 
studied  care  in  the  portraiture  of  minor  characters.  Yet  minutia 
do  not  make  tragedy,  and  while  their  superficial  realism  and  the 


INTRODUCTION  45 

congeniality  of  the  contemporary  point  of  view  undeniably  lend 
to  Beer-Hofmann's  redaction  a  palatability  and  a  power  to  in- 
terest and  appeal  which  its  original  does  not  possess  to  the 
modern  reader,  yet  a  discriminating  critic  will  turn  back  to  the 
old  play  with  a  feeling  that,  for  all  its  stiffness  and  conventions, 
he  breathes  there  a  more  vital  air.  To  the  enrichment  of  his 
theme  Beer-Hofmann  contributes  every  ingenious  effect  possible 
to  symbolism,  delicate  suggestion,  and  scenic  device ;  this  exterior 
decoration  is  gorgeous  4Ti  its  color  and  seductive  warmth,  but  no 
amount  of  such  stuff  can  compensate  for  the  fundamental  flaw 
in  the  crucial  episode  of  his  tragedy.  In  spite  of  the  care  which 
he  has  lavished  on  the  scene  between  his  heroine  and  her  seducer, 
the  surrender  of  the  wife — three  years  married,  a  mother,  and 
loving  both  husband  and  child — remains  insufficiently  motivated, 
and  sheerly  inexplicable,  and  by  this  vital,  inherent  defect  the 
play  must  fall.  Moreover,  it  lacks  a  hero.  Romont  can  no 
longer  play  the  main  part  he  did  in  former  versions ;  he  is  re- 
duced to  a  mere  shadow.  In  a  tragedy  of  Fate,  which  blights  a 
man's  career,  phase  by  phase,  with  persistent,  relentless  hand, 
that  man  must  necessarily  be  the  central  figure,  and,  of  right, 
should  be  an  imposing  figure — a  protagonist  at  once  gigantic  and 
appealing,  who  will  draw  all  hearts  to  him  in  pity  and  terror  at 
the  helpless,  hopeless  struggle  of  over-matched  greatness  and 
worth;  whereas  Charolais — 

The  case  of  Charolais  is  peculiar.  A  priori  we  should  expect 
him  to  be  just  such  a  personage,  yet  his  conduct  throughout  is 
best  explainable  as  that  of  a  man  dominated,  not  by  noble  im- 
pulses, but  by  an  extreme  egoism — a  man  acutely  responsive 
alike  to  his  sense-impressions  and  his  feverish  imagination,  and 
possessed  of  an  exaggerated  squeamishness  towards  the  ugly  and 
the  unpleasant.  When,  in  the  First  Act,  he  bursts  into  tears,  he 
confesses  it  is  not  for  his  father  that  he  weeps,  but  for  his  own 
hard  lot;  he  suffers  from  his  repugnance  to  the  idea  of  his 
father's  corpse  rotting  above  ground — a  repugnance  so  intoler- 
able to  him  that  he  will  yield  his  liberty  to  escape  it.  He  pur- 
poses to  cashier  the  innkeeper  because  the  sight  of  the  lecherous 
patrons  of  his  hostelry  has  disgusted  him,  and  he  alters  his  re- 
solve and  forgives  the  fellow,  not  from  any  considerations  of 
mercy,  but  because  the  mental  picture  of  the  man's  distress  tor- 


46  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

tures  him.  And  by  similar  personal  repugnances  reacting  on 
egoism  is  his  behavior  in  the  denouement  to  be  accounted  for,  and 
in  this  light  becomes  logically  credible  and  clearly  understood. 
Few  practices  are  more  hazardous  or  unjust  than  judging  an 
artist  by  his  objective  creations;  but  an  ignoble  protagonist,  as 
Charolais  is  represented,  is  in  such  ill  accord  with  any  conceivable 
purpose  on  the  part  of  Beer-Hofmann,  and  so  unlikely  to  have 
been  intended  by  him,  that  one  cannot  help  strongly  suspecting 
that  the  author  unconsciously  projected  himself  into  the  char- 
acter and  thus  revealed  his  own  nature  and  point  of  view.  In 
any  case  he  has  presented  for  his  hero  a  whimperer  who  can  com- 
mand neither  our  sympathy  nor  our  respect  when  he  cries  above 
the  bodies  of  his  benefactor  and  her  who  is  that  benefactor's 
daughter,  his  own  wife,  and  the  mother  of  his  child : 

1st  dies  Stilck  denn  aus, 

Weil  jene  starhf  Und  ich?  An  mich  denkt  keiner? 

We  have  come  a  long  way  from  Massinger  and  Field  and  the 
early  seventeenth  century.  The  shadow  of  the  old  dramatists 
reaches  far,  even  to  our  own  time;  we  have  seen  their  play  re- 
developed, but  never  improved  upon,  by  pseudo-classicist,  and 
popularizer,  and  Decadent  hyper-aesthete.  That  which  was  the 
vulnerable  point  in  the  original  production — its  two-fold  plot — 
has  been  still  for  every  imitator  a  stone  of  stumbling.  Rowe  tried 
to  escape  it  by  the  suppression  of  the  antecedent  half,  and  the 
fraction  which  remained  in  his  hand  was  an  artificial  thing  with- 
out the  breath  of  life,  that  had  to  be  attenuated  and  padded  out 
with  speechifying  to  fill  the  compass  of  its  five  Acts.  Beer-Hof- 
mann tried  to  escape  it  by  superimposing  an  idea  not  proper  to  the 
story,  and  beneath  the  weight  of  this  his  tragedy  collapsed  in  the 
middle,  for  its  addition  over-packed  the  drama,  and  left  him  not 
room  enough  to  make  convincing  the  conduct  of  his  characters. 
The  first  essayers,  who  attacked  in  straightforward  fashion  their 
unwieldy  theme,  succeeded  best ;  all  attempts  to  obviate  its  essen- 
tial defect  have  marred  rather  than  mended.  Perhaps  the  theme 
is  by  its  nature  unsuited  to  dramatic  treatment,  and  yet  there  is 
much  that  is  dramatic  about  that  theme,  as  is  evinced  by  the  fact 
that  playwrights  have  been  unable  to  let  it  lie. 


EDITOR'S  NOTE  ON  TEXT 

The  present  text  aims  to  reproduce  exactly  the  Quarto  edition  of 
1632,  retaining  its  punctuation,  spelling,  capitals,  italics,  and  stage 
directions — amending  only  the  metrical  alignment.^  Mere  mistakes  of 
printing — inverted  and  broken  letters — are  restored,  hut  are  duly  cata- 
logued in  the  foot  notes.  The  division  into  scenes,  as  made  by  Gifford, 
and  his  affixment  of  the  locus  of  each,  are  inserted  into  the  text,  inclosed 
in  brackets.  In  the  foot  notes  are  recorded  all  variants  of  all  subse- 
quent editions.  Differences  of  punctuation  are  given,  if  they  could 
possibly  alter  the  meaning,  but  not  otherwise — nor  mere  differences 
in  wording  of  stage  directions,  nor  differences  in  spelling,  nor  elision 
for  metre.  In  the  Quarto  the  elder  Novall  is  sometimes  designated 
before  his  lines  as  Novall  Senior,  sometimes  merely  as  Novall — no  con- 
fusion is  possible,  since  he  and  his  son  are  never  on  the  stage  at  the 
same  time,  Gifford  and  Symons  always  write  Novall  Senior,  while 
Coxeter  and  Mason  write  Novall  alone  in  I,  i,  and  Novall  Senior  there- 
after. I  have  not  thought  it  worth  while  to  note  the  variants  of  the 
several  texts  on  this  point. 

1  This,  of  course,  may  require  the  substitution  of  a  capital  for  a  small  letter, 
as  when  a  mid-line  word  of  the  Quarto  becomes  in  the  re-alignment  the  first 
word  of  the  verse. 


47 


Q.— The  Quarto— 1632 

C. — Coxeter's  edition,  1759 

M. — Monck  Mason's  edition,  1779 

G. — Gifford's  [2nd.]  edition,  1813 

S. — Symons'  (Mermaid)  edition,  1893 

f. — and  all  later  editions 

s.  d. — stage  direction 


THE 


F  A  T  A  L  L 

D  a  VV  R  Y  : 

A 

TRAGEDY: 


As  it  hath  beene  often  Acted  at  the  Pri- 

uate  Houfe  in  Blackefryers^  by  his 

Maiefties  Seruants. 

Written  by  P.  M.  and  N.  F. 


LONDON, 

Printed  by  Iohn  Norton,  for  Francis 
Constable,  and  are  to  be  fold  at  his 
fhop  at  the  Crane,  in  Pauls  Church- 
yard.    1632. 


Charalois 

Romont. 

Charmi. 

Nouall  Sen. 

Liladam. 

DiiCroy. 

Rochfort. 

Baumont, 

Pontalier. 

Malotin. 

Beaumelle. 

[Page.] 
[Presidents,  Captains,  Soldiers,  Mourners, 


} 


Florimel. 

Bellapert 

Aymer. 

Nouall  lun. 

Aduocates. 

Creditors  3. 

Officers. 

Prieft. 

Taylor. 

Barber. 

Perfumer, 

Gaoler,  Bailiffs,  Servants.] 


G.  and  S.  omit  Officers,  and  add  those  roles  which  are  enclosed  in  brackets. 

They  add  explanations  of  each  character,  also  changing  the  order.  For 
Gaoler,  S.  reads  Gaolers. 

Baumont — M.,  f  spell  Beaumont. 

C  &  M.  add  after  the  list  of  Dramatis  Personae:  The  Scene,  Dijon  in  Bur- 
gundy. 


50 


The  Fatall  Dowry: 

A'^Tr  age  dy : 

Act.     primus.      Scaena  prima: 

[A  Street  before  the  Court  of  Justice] 
£wf^r,Charaloyes  with  a  paper,  Romont,  Charmi. 

Charfni 

SIR,  I  may  moue  the  Court  to  ferue  your  will, 
But  therein  fhall  both  wrong  you  and  my  felfe. 
Rom.     Why  thinke  you  fo  fir? 
Charmi.  'Caufe  I  am  familiar 

With  what  will  be  their  anfwere :  they  will  fay, 

Tis  againft  law,  and  argue  me  of  Ignorance  5 

For  offering  them  the  motion. 

Rom.  You  know  not,  Sir, 

How  in  this  caufe  they  may  difpence  with  Law, 
And  therefore  frame  not  you  their  anfwere  for  them, 
But  doe  your  parts. 

Charmi.  I  loue  the  caufe  fo  well. 

As  I  could  runne,  the  hazard  of  a  checke  for  't.  lO 

Rom.    From  whom? 

Charmi.  Some  of  the  bench,  that  watch  to  give  it, 

More  then  to  doe  the  office  that  they  fit  for : 

10    As— That  (C,  M. 

12,  16,  etc.     then — modernized  to  than  throughout  by  all  later  eds. 

51 


52  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

But  giue  me  (fir)  my  fee. 

Rom.  Now  you  are  Noble. 

Charmi.     I  fhall  deferue  this  better  yet,  in  giuing 
My  Lord  fome  counfell,  (if  he  pleafe  to  heare  it)  15 

Then  I  fhall  doe  with  pleading. 

Rom.  What  may  it  be,  fir? 

Charmi.     That  it  would  pleafe  his  Lordfhip,  as  the  prefidents. 
And  Counfaylors  of  Court  come  by,  to  ftand 
Heere,  and  but  shew  your  felfe,  and  to  fome  one 

Or  two,  make  his  requeft :  there  is  a  minute  20 

When  a  mans  prefence  fpeakes  in  his  owne  caufe. 
More  then  the  tongues  of  twenty  aduocates. 

Rom.     I  haue  vrg'd  that. 
Ejiter  Rochf ort :  DuCroye. 

Charmi.  Their  Lordfhips  here  are  coming, 

I  muft  goe  get  me  a  place,  you'l  finde  me  in  Court, 
And  at  your  feruice  Exit  Charmi. 

Rom.  Now  put  on  your  Spirits.  25 

Du  Croy.     The  eafe  that  you  prepare  your  felfe,  my  Lord, 
In  giuing  vp  the  place  you  hold  in  Court, 
Will  proue  (I  feare)  a  trouble  in  the  State, 
And  that  no  flight  one. 

Roch.  Pray  you  fir,  no  more. 

Rom.     Now  fir,  lofe  not  this  offerd  means  :  their  lookes  30 

Fixt  on  you,  with  a  pittying  earneftneffe, 
Inuite  you  to  demand  their  furtherance 
To  your  good  purpofe. — This  fuch  a  dulneffe 
So  f oolifh  and  vntimely  as — 

Du  Croy.  You  know  him. 

Roch.     I  doe,  and  much  lament  the  fudden  fall  35 

Of  his  braue  houfe.     It  is  young  Charloyes. 
Sonne  to  the  Marfhall,  from  whom  he  inherits 
His  fame  and  vertues  onely. 

13,  end     s.  d. :  Gives  him  his  purse  (G.,  S. 
19    your — him  (G.,  S. 

33  This  fuch — This  is  such  (S. 

34  .     -?  (C,  f. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  53 

Rom.  Ha,  they  name  you. 

Dii  Croye.     His  father  died  in  prifon  two  daies  fince. 

Roch.     Yes,  to  the  fhame  of  this  vngrateful  State ;  40 

That  fuch  a  Mafter  in  the  art  of  warre. 
So  noble,  and  fo  highly  meriting, 
From  this  forgetfull  Country,  fhould,  for  want 
Of  meanes  to  fatisfie  his  creditors. 

The  fummes  he  tooke  vp  for  the  generall  good,  45 

Meet  with  an  end  fo  infamous. 

Rom.  Dare  you  euer 

Hope  for  like  opportunity? 

Du  Croye.  My  good  Lord ! 

Roch.     My  wifh  bring  comfort  to  you. 

Du  Croye.  The  time  calls  vs. 

Roch.     Good  morrow  Colonell. 

Exeunt  Roch.  Du  Croye. 

Rom.  This  obftinate  fpleene, 

You  thinke  becomes  your  forrow,  and  forts  wel  50 

With  your  blacke  fuits :  but  grant  me  wit,  or  iudgement, 
And  by  the  freedome  of  an  honeft  man, 
And  a  true  friend  to  boote,  I  sweare  'tis  fhamefull. 
And  therefore  flatter  not  your  felfe  with  hope, 

Your  fable  habit,  with  the  hat  and  cloake,  55 

No  though  the  ribons  helpe,  haue  power  to  worke  'em 
To  what  you  would :  for  thofe  that  had  no  eyes. 
To  fee  the  great  acts  of  your  father,  will  not. 
From  any  fafhion  forrow  can  put  on, 
Bee  taught  to  know  their  duties. 

Char.  If  they  will  not,  60 

They  are  too  old  to  learne,  and  I  too  young 
To  giue  them  counfell,  fince  if  they  partake 
The  vnderftanding,  and  the  hearts  of  men, 
They  will  preuent  my  words  and  teares :  if  not. 

What  can  perfwafion,  though  made  eloquent  65 

With  griefe,  worke  vpon  fuch  as  haue  chang'd  natures 

45  fummes — sum  (C,  M. 

46  and  47    Dare  .  .  .  oportunity? — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 
47,  end    s.  d. :  They  salute  him  as  they  pass  by  (G.,  S. 

56,  after  No    — ,  (C,  f. 
56    'em — them  (G.,  S. 


54  THE   FATAL   DOWRY 

With  the  moft  fauage  beaft  ?  Bleft,  bleft  be  euer 

The  memory  of  that  happy  age,  when  iuftice 

Had  no  gards  to  keepe  off  wrongd  innocence, 

From  flying  to  her  fuccours,  and  in  that  70 

Affurance  of  redreffe:  where  now  (Romont) 

The  damnd,  with  more  eafe  may  afcend  from  Hell, 

Then  we  ariue  at  her.     One  Cerberus  there 

Forbids  the  paffage,  in  our  Courts  a  thoufand. 

As  lowd,  and  fertyle  headed,  and  the  Client  75 

That  wants  the  fops,  to  fill  their  rauenous  throats, 

Muft  hope  for  no  acceffe :  why  fhould  I  then 

Attempt  impoffifbilities :  you  friend,  being 

Too  well  acquainted  with  my  dearth  of  meanes, 

To  make  my  entrance  that  way? 

Rom.  Would  I  were  not.  80 

But  Sir,  you  haue  a  caufe,  a  caufe  fo  iust, 
Of  fuch  neceffitie,  not  to  be  deferd. 
As  would  compell  a  mayde,  whose  foot  was  neuer 
Set  ore  her  fathers  threfhold,  nor  within 

The  houfe  where  fhe  was  borne,  euer  fpake  word,  85 

Which  was  not  vfhered  with  pure  virgin  blufhes. 
To  drowne  the  tempeft  of  a  pleaders  tongue, 
And  force  corruption  to  giue  backe  the  hire 
It  tooke  againft  her :  let  examples  moue  you. 

You  fee  great  men  in  birth,  efteeme  and  fortune,  90 

Rather  then  lofe  a  fcruple  of  their  right, 
Fawne  bafely  vpon  fuch,  whofe  gownes  put  off. 
They  would  difdaine  for  Seruants. 

Char.  And  to  thefe 

Can  I  become  a  fuytor? 

Rom.  Without  loffe, 

Would  you  confider,  that  to  gaine  their  f auors,  95 

Our  chafteft  dames  put  off  their  modefties, 
Soldiers  forget  their  honors,  vfurers 

70  and  in  that — and,  in  that,  (C,  f. 

71  where — whereas  (C,  M. 

90    great  men — men  great  (C,  f. 

92  and  93    And  .  .  .  fuytor ?—^r\nit^  as  one  line  in  Q. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  55 

Make  facrifice  of  Gold,  poets  of  wit, 

And  men  religious,  part  with  fame,  and  goodneffe? 

Be  therefore  wonne  to  vfe  the  meanes,  that  may  lOO 

Aduance  your  pious  ends. 

Char.  You  fhall  orecome. 

Rom.     And  you  receiue  the  glory,  pray  you  now  practife. 
'Tis  well.  Enter  Old  Nouall,  Liladam, 

Char.     Not  looke  on  me!  &  s  Creditors. 

Rom.  ^       You  muft  haue  patience 

Offer't  againe. 

Char.  And  be  againe  contemn'd? 

Nou.     I  know  whats  to  be  done. 

1  Cred.  And  that  your  Lordfhip  105 
Will  pleafe  to  do  your  knowledge,  we  offer,  firft 

Our  thankefull  hearts  heere,  as  a  bounteous  earneft 
To  what  we  will  adde. 

Nou.  One  word  more  of  this 

I  am  your  enemie.     Am  I  a  man 
Your  bribes  can  worke  on?  ha? 

Lilad.  Friends,  you  miftake  IIO 

The  way  to  winne  my  Lord,  he  muft  not  heare  this. 
But  I,  as  one  in  fauour,  in  his  fight, 
May  harken  to  you  for  my  profit.     Sir, 
I  pray  heare  em. 

Nou.  Tis  well. 

Lilad.  Obferue  him  now. 

Nou.     Your  caufe  being  good,  and  your  proceedings  fo,  "    115 

Without  corruption ;  I  am  your  friend, 
Speake  your  defires. 

2  Cred.  Oh,  they  are  charitable. 
The  Marfhall  ftood  ingag'd  vnto  vs  three, 

Two  hundred  thoufand  crownes,  which  by  his  death 

103    'Tis  well.    — G.  &  S.  assign  to  Char,  and  follow  with  s.  d. :  Tenders 
his  petition.    The  change  is  uncalled  for. 
103  s.  d.,  after  Nouall    — G.  &  S,  insert  Advocates. 

103  and  104     You  .  .  .  againe. — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

104  Offer't— Offer  it  (M.,  f. 

no,  end    s.  d. :  Aside  to  Cred.    (G.,  S. 

114    /  pray  heare  em. — Pray  hear  them.     (G. — /  pray  hear  them.    (S. 

114    Tis— It  is  (G. 

116     ;    — M.,  f.  omit. 


56  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

We  are  defeated  of.     For  which  great  loffe  120 

We  ayme  at  nothing  but  his  rotten  flefh, 
Nor  is  that  cruelty. 

I  Cred.  I  haue  a  fonne, 

That  talkes  of  nothing  but  of  Gunnes  and  Armors, 
And  fweares  hee'll  be  a  foldier,  tis  an  humor 

I  would  diuert  him  from,  and  I  am  told  125 

That  if  I  minifter  to  him  in  his  drinke 
Powder,  made  of  this  banquerout  Marfhalls  bones, 
Prouided  that  the  carcafe  rot  aboue  ground 
'Twill  cure  his  foolifh  frenfie. 

Nou.  You  fhew  in  it 

A  fathers  care.     I  haue  a  fonne  my  felfe,  130 

A  fafhionable  Gentleman  and  a  peacefuU : 
And  but  I  am  affur'd  he's  not  fo  giuen. 
He  fhould  take  of  it  too.  Sir  what  are  you? 

Char.     A  Gentleman. 

Nou.  So  are  many  that  rake  dunghills. 

If  you  haue  any  fuit,  moue  it  in  Court.  135 

I  take  no  papers  in  corners. 

Rom.                                       Yes 
As  the  matter  may  be  carried,  and  hereby 
To  mannage  the  conuayance Follow  him. 

Lil.     You  are  rude.     I  fay,  he  fhall  not  paffe.         Exit  Nouall. 

Rom.  You  fay  fo.     Char:  and  Aduocates 

On  what  affurance  ?  140 

For  the  well  cutting  of  his  Lordfhips  cornes. 
Picking  his  toes,  or  any  office  elfe 
Neerer  to  bafeneffe ! 

Lil.  Looke  vpon  mee  better, 

Are  thefe  the  enfignes  of  fo  coorfe  a  fellow? 
Be  well  aduis'd. 

123    Armors — Armour  (C,  M.,  G. 

127     banquerout — here  and  elsewhere  by  later  eds.  always  bankrupt. 

133    Sir — assigned  to  Char,  by  G.,  who  adds  s.  d. :  Tenders  his  petition. 

136  and  137     Yes  .  .  .  hereby — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

137  hereby — whereby  (M.,  G. 
139     You  are — You're  (C,  M. 

139,  after /o    .    — ?  (C.,  M.— !  (G.,  S. 

139    s.  d. — The  exit  of  Novall  is  placed  earlier,  at  1.  136,  by  G.  &  S. 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY  57 

Rom.  Out,  rogue,  do  not  I  know,         (Kicks  him)         145 

Thefe  glorious  weedes  fpring  from  the  fordid  dunghill 
Of  thy  officious  bafeneffe  ?  wert  thou  worthy 
Of  anything  from  me,  but  my  contempt, 
I  would  do  more  then  this,  more,  you  Court-fpider. 

Lil.     But  that  this  man  is  lawleffe  ;  he  fhould  find  150 

that  I  am  valiant. 

1  Cred.  If  your  eares  are  faft, 

Tis  nothing.     Whats  a  blow  or  two  ?  As  much — 

2  Cred.     Thefe  chaftifements,  as  vfefull  are  as  frequent 
To  fuch  as  would  grow  rich. 

Rom.  Are  they  fo  Rafcals? 

I  will  be-friend  you  then. 

I  Cred.  Beare  witneffe.  Sirs.  155 

Lil.     Trueth,  I  haue  borne  my  part  already,  friends. 
In  the  Court  you  fhall  haue  more.  Exit. 

Rom.  I  know  you  for 

The  worft  of  fpirits,  that  striue  to  rob  the  tombes 
Of  what  is  their  inheritance,  from  the  dead. 

For  vfurers,  bred  by  a  riotous  peace :  i6c 

That  hold  the  Charter  of  your  wealth  &  freedome, 
By  being  Knaues  and  Cuckolds  that  ne're  prayd, 
But  when  you  feare  the  rich  heires  will  grow  wife, 
To  keepe  their  Lands  out  of  your  parchment  toyles : 
And  then,  the  Diuell  your  father's  cald  vpon,  165 

To  inuent  fome  ways  of  Luxury  ne're  thought  on. 
Be  gone,  and  quickly,  or  He  leaue  no  roome 
Vpon  your  forhead  for  your  homes  to  fprowt  on, 
Without  a  murmure,  or  I  will  vndoe  you ; 
For  I  will  beate  you  honeft.  • 

145     G.  &  S.  omit  s.  d. 

149,  after  this,    — s.  d. ;  Beats  him  (G. — Kicks  him  (S. 

154  and  155    Are  .  .  .  then — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

155,  after  then.    — s.  d. :  Kicks  them  (C,  f. 

157    haue — hear  (M. 

159    from — omitted  by  C,  f. 

162,  after  Cuckolds    — ,  (C,  M. — ;  (G.,  S. 

162    ne'er — never  (M. 

162    prayd — pray  (G. 

166     To—T  (M. 

168    forhead — foreheads  (G. 


58  ■  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

I  Cred.  Thrift  forbid.  170 

We  will  beare  this,  rather  then  hazard  that.     Ex:  Creditor. 

Enter  Charloyes. 

Rom.     I  am  fome-what  eas'd  in  this  yet. 

Char.  (Onely  friend) 

To  what  vaine  purpofe  do  I  make  my  forrow, 
Wayte  on  the  triumph  of  their  cruelty  ? 

Or  teach  their  pride  from  my  humilitie,  175 

To  thinke  it  has  orecome  ?     They  are  determin'd 
What  they  will  do :  and  it  may  well  become  me, 
To  robbe  them  of  the  glory  they  expect 
From  my  fubmiffe  intreaties. 

Rom.  Thinke  not  fo.  Sir, 

The  difficulties  that  you  incounter  with,  iSo 

Will  crowne  the  vndertaking — Heauen  !  you  weepe : 
And  I  could  do  fo  too,  but  that  I  know, 
Theres  more  expected  from  the  fonne  and  friend 
Of  him,  whofe  fatall  loffe  now  fhakes  our  natures. 

Then  fighs,  or  teares,  (in  which  a  village  nurfe  185 

Or  cunning  ftrumpet,  when  her  knaue  is  hangd. 
May  ouercome  vs.)  We  are  men  (young  Lord) 
Let  vs  not  do  like  women.     To  the  Court, 
And  there  fpeake  like  your  birth :  wake  fleeping  iustice. 
Or  dare  the  Axe.     This  is  a  way  will  fort  190 

With  what  you  are.     I  call  you  not  to  that 
I  will  fhrinke  from  my  felfe,  I  will  deferue 
Your  thankes,  or  fuifer  with  you — O  how  brauely 
That  fudden  fire  of  anger  fhewes  in  you ! 

Giue  fuell  to  it,  fince  you  are  on  a  fhelf e,  195 

Of  extreme  danger  fuffer  like  your  felfe.         Exeunt. 

171     then — this  form  retained  in  C. 
171     s.  d.  Creditor — Creditors  (G.,  S. 
195    you  are — you're  (C,  M. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  59 

[SCENE     II] 

[The  Court  of  Justice] 

Enter  Rochfort,  Nouall  Se.  Charmi.  Du  Croye,  Aduocates, 
Baumont,  and  Officers,  and  j.  Prefidents. 

Du  Croye.     Your  Lordfhip's  feated.     May  this  meeting  proue 
profperous  to  vs,  and  to  tHe  generall  good 
Of  Burgundy. 

Nou.  Se.     Speake  to  the  poynt. 

Du  Croy.  Which  is, 

With  honour  to  difpofe  the  place  and  power 

Of  primier  Prefident,  which  this  reuerent  man  5 

Graue  Rochfort,  (whom  for  honours  fake  I  name) 
Is  purpof'd  to  refigne  a  place,  my  Lords, 
In  which  he  hath  with  fuch  integrity, 
Perform'd  the  firft  and  beft  parts  of  a  ludge, 

That  as  his  life  tranfcends  all  faire  examples  10 

Of  fuch  as  were  before  him  in  Dijon, 
So  it  remaines  to  thofe  that  fhall  fucceed  him, 
A  Prefident  they  may  imitate,  but  not  equall. 

Roch.     I  may  not  fit  to  heare  this. 

Du  Croy.  '  Let  the  loue 

And  thankfulnes  we  are  bound  to  pay  to  goodneffe,  15 

In  this  o'recome  your  modeftie. 

Roch.  My  thankes 

For  this  great  fauour  fhall  preuent  your  trouble. 
The  honourable  truft  that  was  impos'd 
Vpon  my  weakneffe,  fince  you  witneffe  for  me. 

It  was  not  ill  difcharg'd,  I  will  not  mention,  20 

Nor  now,  if  age  had  not  depriu'd  me  of 
The  little  ftrength  I  had  to  gouerne  well, 

first  s.  d.,  3  Prefidents — Presidents,  .  .  .  three  Creditors   (G.,   S. 

1  Lordfhip's  feated.    May — lordships  seated,  may  (G.,  S. 

2  and  3    profperous  .  .  .  Burgundy. — printed  as  a  line  in  Q. 
7,  after  resigne    — ;  (M.,  f. 

13    Prefident — precedent  (C.,  f. 

13    Prefident  they — precedent  that  they  (C.,  M. 

15    we  are — we're  (C.,  M. 


60  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

The  Prouince  that  I  vndertooke,  forfake  it. 

Nou.     That  we  could  lend  you  of  our  yeeres. 

Du  Cray.  Or  ftrength. 

Nou.     Or  as  you  are,  perfwade  you  to  continue  25 

The  noble  exercife  of  your  knowing  iudgement. 

Roch.     That  may  not  be,  nor  can  your  Lordfhips  goodnes, 
Since  your  imployments  haue  confer'd  vpon  me 
Sufficient  wealth,  deny  the  vse  of  it, 

And  though  old  age,  when  one  foot's  in  the  graue,  30 

In  many,  when  all  humors  elfe  are  fpent 
Feeds  no  affection  in  them,  but  defire 
To  adde  height  to  the  mountaine  of  their  riches : 
In  me  it  is  not  fo,  I  reft  content 

With  the  honours,  and  eftate  I  now  poffeffe,  ,35 

And  that  I  may  haue  liberty  to  vse. 
What  Heauen  ftill  bleffing  my  poore  induftry, 
Hath  made  me  Mafter  of :  I  pray  the  Court 
To  eafe  me  of  my  burthen,  that  I  may 

Employ  the  fmall  remainder  of  my  life,  40 

In  liuing  well,  and  learning  how  to  dye  fo. 

Enter  Roniont,  and  Charalois. 

Rom.     See  fir,  our  Aduocate. 

Du  Croy.  The  Court  intreats. 

Your  Lordfhip  will  be  pleafd  to  name  the  man. 
Which  you  would  haue  your  fucceffor,  and  in  me. 
All  promife  to  confirme  it. 

Roch.  I  embrace  it,  45 

As  an  affurance  of  their  fauour  to  me, 
And  name  my  Lord  Nouall. 

Du  Croy.  The  Court  allows  it. 

Roch.     But  there  are  futers  waite  heere,  and  their  caufes 
May  be  of  more  neceffity  to  be  heard. 

And  therefore  wifh  that  mine  may  be  defer'd,  50 

And  theirs  haue  hearing. 

Du  Croy.  It  your  Lordfhip  pleafe 

To  take  the  place,  we  will  proceed. 

35     the—th'  (C,  M. 

50    And— I  (G.,  S. 

51,  end    — s.  d. :  To  Nov.  sen.  (G.,  S. 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY  61 

Charm.  The  caufe 

We  come  to  offer  to  your  Lordfhips  cenfure, 
Is  in  it  felfe  fo  noble,  that  it  needs  not 

Or  Rhetorique  in  me  that  plead,  or  fauour  55 

From  your  graue  Lordfhips,  to  determine  of  it. 
Since  to  the  prayfe  of  your  impartial!  iuftice 
(Which  guilty,  nay  condemn'd  men,  dare  not  fcandall) 
It  will  erect  a  trophy  of  your  mercy 
With  married  to  that  Iuftice. 

Nou.  Se.  Speaks  to  the  caufe.  60 

Charm.     I  will,  my  Lord :  to  fay,  the  late  dead  Marfhall 
The  father  of  this  young  Lord  heer,  my  Clyent, 
Hath  done  his  Country  great  and  faithful!  feruice. 
Might  taske  me  of  impertinence  to  repeate, 

What  your  graue  Lordfhips  cannot  but  remember,  65 

He  in  his  life,  become  indebted  to 
Thefe  thriftie  men,  I  will  not  wrong  their  credits. 
By  giuing  them  the  attributes  they  now  merit, 
And  fayling  by  the  fortune  of  the  warres. 

Of  meanes  to  free  himfelfe,  from  his  ingagements,  70 

He  was  arrefted,  and  for  want  of  bayle 
Imprifond  at  their  fuite:  and  not  long  after 
With  loffe  of  liberty  ended  his  life. 
And  though  it  be  a  Maxime  in  our  Lawes, 

All  fuites  dye  with  the  perfon,  thefe  mens  malice  75 

In  death  find  matter  for  their  hate  to  worke  on, 
Denying  him  the  decent  Rytes  of  buriall, 
Which  the  fworne  enemies  of  the  Chriftian  faith 
Grant  freely  to  their  flaues ;  may  it  therefore  pleafe 
Your  Lordfhips,  fo  to  fafhion  your  decree,  80 

That  what  their  crueltie  doth  forbid,  your  pittie 
May  giue  allowance  to. 

Nou.  Se.  How  long  haue  you  Sir 

Practis'd  in  Court? 

Charmi.  Some  twenty  yeeres,  my  Lord. 

60    With— Which  (C,  M.,  G. 

64     taske — tax  (M. 

66    become — became  (M.,  f. 

76    find — finds  (G.,  S. 

82  and  83    How  .  .  .  Court? — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 


62  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

Nou.  Se.     By  your  groffe  ignorance  it  fhould  appeare, 
Not  twentie  dayes. 

Charmi.  I  hope  I  haue  giuen  no  caufe  85 

In  this,  my  Lord — 

Nou.  Se.  How  dare  you  moue  the  Court, 

To  the  difpenfing  with  an  Act  confirmd 
By  Parlament,  to  the  terror  of  all  banquerouts  ? 
Go  home,  and  with  more  care  perufe  the  Statutes : 
Or  the  next  motion  fauoring  of  this  boldneffe,  90 

May  force  you  to  leape  (againft  your  will) 
Ouer  the  place  you  plead  at. 

Charmi.  I  forefaw  this. 

Rom.     Why  does  your  Lordfhip  thinke,  the  mouing  of 
A  caufe  more  honeft  then  this  Court  had  euer 

The  honor  to  determine,  can  deferue  95 

A  checke  like  this? 

Nou.  Se.  Strange  holdnes ! 

Rom.  Tis  fit  freedome: 

Or  do  you  conclude,  an  aduocate  cannot  hold 
His  credit  with  the  ludge,  vnleffe  he  ftudy 
His  face  more  then  the  caufe  for  which  he  pleades? 

Charmi.     Forbeare. 

Rom.  Or  cannot  you,  that  haue  the  power  100 

To  qualifie  the  rigour  of  the  Lawes, 
When  you  are  pleafed,  take  a  little  from 
The  ftrictneffe  of  your  fowre  decrees,  enacted 
In  fauor  of  the  greedy  creditors 
Againft  the  orethrowne  debter? 

Nou.  Se.  Sirra,  you  that  prate  105 

Thus  f awcily,  what  are  you  ? 

Rom.  Why  He  tell  you. 

Thou  purple-colour'd  man,  I  am  one  to  whom 
Thou  oweft  the  meanes  thou  haft  of  fitting  there 
A  corrupt  Elder. 

Charmi.  Forbeare. 

85  and  86    /  hope  .  .  .  Lord —    — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 
91,  after  you    — G.  &  S.  insert  ,  sir, 
93,  after  Why    — ,  (C,  f. 

106  tell  you — tell  thee  (G. 

107  /  am — I'm  (C,  M. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  63 

Rom.     The  nofe  thou  wear.st,  is  my  gift,  and  thofe  eyes  no 

That  meete  no  obiect  fo  bafe  as  their  Mafter, 
Had  bin,  long  fince,  torne  from  that  guiltie  head, 
And  thou  thy  felfe  flaue  to  fome  needy  Swiff e, 
Had  I  not  worne  a  fword,  and  vs'd  it  better 
Then  in  thy  prayers  thou  ere  didft  thy  tongue.  115 

Nou.  Se.     Shall  fuch  an  Infolence  paffe  vnpunifht? 

Charmi.  Heere  mee. 

Rom.     Yet  I,  that  in  mjrferuice  done  my  Country, 
Difdaine  to  bee  put  in  the  fcale  with  thee, 
Confeffe  my  felfe  vnworthy  to  bee  valued 

With  the  leaft  part,  nay  haire  of  the  dead  Marfhall,  120 

Of  whofe  so  many  glorious  vndertakings, 
Make  choice  of  any  one,  and  that  the  meaneft 
Performd  againft  the  fubtill  Fox  of  France, 
The  politique  Lewis,  or  the  more  defperate  Swiffe, 
And  'twyll  outwaygh  all  the  good  purpofe,  125 

Though  put  in  act,  that  euer  Gowneman  practizd. 

Nou.  Se.     Away  with  him  to  prifon. 

Rom.  If  that  curfes, 

Vrg'd  iuftly,  and  bi-eath'd  forth  fo,  euer  fell 
On  thofe  that  did  deferue  them ;  let  not  mine 

Be  fpent  in  vaine  now,  that  thou  from  this  inftant  130 

Mayeft  in  thy  feare  that  they  will  fall  vpon  thee. 
Be  fenfible  of  the  plagues  they  fhall  bring  with  them. 
And  for  denying  of  a  little  earth. 
To  couer  what  remaynes  of  our  great  foldyer : 

May  all  your  wiues  proue  whores,  your  factors  theeues,  135 

And  while  you  Hue,  your  riotous  heires  vndoe  you. 
And  thou,  the  patron  of  their  cruelty. 
Of  all  thy  Lordfhips  Hue  not  to  be  owner 
Of  fo  much  dung  as  will  conceale  a  Dog, 

Or  what  is  worfe,  thy  felfe  in.     And  thy  yeeres,  140 

To  th'  end  thou  mayft  be  wretched,  I  wifh  many. 
And  as  thou  haft  denied  the  dead  a  graue, 
May  mifery  in  thy  life  make  thee  defire  one, 
Which  men  and  all  the  Elements  keepe  from  thee : 

115    ere — ever  (C,  M.,  G. 

125    purpofe — purposes  (G.,  S. 


64  THE   FATAL   DOWRY 

I  haue  begun  well,  imitate,  exceed.  145 

Roch.     Good  counfayle  were  it,  a  prayfe  worthy  deed.     Ex. 

Du  Croye.     Remember  what  we  are.  Officers  with  Rom. 

Chara.  Thus  low  my  duty 

Anfweres  your  Lordfhips  counfaile.     I  will  vse 
In  the  few  words  (with  which  I  am  to  trouble 

Your  Lordfhips  eares)  the  temper  that  you  wifh  mee,  150 

Not  that  I  f eare  to  fpeake  my  thoughts  as  lowd, 
And  with  a  liberty  beyond  Romont: 
But  that  I  know,  for  me  that  am  made  vp 
Of  all  that's  wretched,  fo  to  hafte  my  end, 

Would  feeme  to  moft,  rather  a  willingneffe  ^55 

To  quit  the  burthen  of  a  hopeleffe  life. 
Then  fcorne  of  death,  or  duty  to  the  dead. 
I  therefore  bring  the  tribute  of  my  prayfe 
To  your  feueritie,  and  commend  the  luftice, 

That  will  not  for  the  many  feruices  160 

That  any  man  hath  done  the  Common  wealth 
Winke  at  his  leaft  of  ills :  what  though  my  father 
Writ  man  before  he  was  fo,  and  confirmd  it, 
By  numbring  that  day,  no  part  of  his  life. 

In  which  he  did  not  feruice  to  his  Country ;  165 

Was  he  to  be  free  therefore  from  the  Lawes, 
And  ceremonious  forme  in  your  decrees? 
Or  elfe  becaufe  he  did  as  much  as  man 
In  thofe  three  memorable  ouerthrowes 

At  Granfon,  Morat,  Nancy,  where  his  Mafter,  170 

The  warlike  Charloyes  (with  whofe  mif fortunes 
I  beare  his  name)  loft  treafure,  men  and  life. 
To  be  excuf'd,  from  payment  of  thofe  fummes 
Which  (his  owne  patri  mony  fpent)  his  zeale, 
To  ferue  his  Countrey,  forc'd  him  to  take  vp?  175 

Nou.  Se.     The  prefident  were  ill. 

Chara.  And  yet,  my  Lord,  this  much 

I  know  youll  grant ;  After  thofe  great  defeatures, 
Which  in  their  dreadfuU  mines  buried  quick,        Enter  officers. 
Courage  and  hope,  in  all  men  but  himfelfe, 

145,  end    — s.  d. :  Aside  to  Charalois  (G.,  S. 

146    C,  f.  insert  ,  after  counfayle  and  omit  ,  after  it. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  65 

He  forft  the  proud  foe,  in  his  height  of  conqueft,  l8o 

To  yield  vnto  an  honourable  peace. 

And  in  it  faued  an  hundred  thoufand  Hues, 

To  end  his  owne,  that  was  fure  proofe  againft 

The  fcalding  Summers  heate,  and  Winters  froft, 

Illayres,  the  Cannon,  and  the  enemies  fword,  185 

In  a  moft  loathfome  prifon. 

Du  Croy.  Twas  his  fault 

To  be  fo  prodigall.  ^ 

Nou.  Se.  He  had  fro  the  ftate 

Sufficent  entertainment  for  the  Army. 

Char.     Sufficient?  My  Lord,  you  fit  at  home, 
And  though  your  fees  are  boundleffe  at  the  barre :  190 

Are  thriftie  in  the  charges  of  the  warre, 
But  your  wills  be  dbeyd.     To  thefe  I  turne, 
To  thefe  f oft-hearted  men,  that  wifely  know 
They  are  onely  good  men,  that  pay  what  they  owe. 

^  Cred.     And  fo  they  are. 

I  Cred.  'Tis  the  City  Doctrine,  195 

We  ftand  bound  to  maintaine  it. 

Char.  Be  conftant  in  it. 

And  fince  you  are  as  mercileffe  in  your  natures. 
As  bafe,  and  mercenary  in  your  meanes 
By  which  you  get  your  wealth,  I  will  not  vrge 

The  Court  to  take  away  one  fcruple  from  200 

The  right  of  their  lawes,  or  one  good  thought 
In  you  to  mend  your  difpofition  with. 
I  know  there  is  no  mufique  in  your  eares 
So  pleafing  as  the  groanes  of  men  in  prifon. 
And  that  the  teares  of  widows,  and  the  cries  205 

180    proud — S.  omits. 

185    enemies — enemy's  (C,  f. 

186 — '8  Lines  in  Q,  are:  In  .  .  .  prifon.  \  Twas  .  .  .  prodigall.  |  He  .  .  . 
Army.  ^ 

187    fro — from  (C,  f. 

189  Sufficent r  My  Lord— Sufficient,  my  Lord?  (C,  f.  G.  &  S.  have 
lords. 

194  They  are — They're  (M.,  f. 

195  'Tis— It  is  (G.,  S. 

201  right — See  Notes ;  after  or  — G.  inserts  wish  in  brackets,  which  S. 
accepts  in  text. 


66  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

Of  famifh'd  Orphants,  are  the  feafts  that  take  you. 

That  to  be  in  your  danger,  with  more  care 

Should  be  auoyded,  then  infectious  ayre, 

The  loath'd  embraces  of  difeafed  women, 

A  flatterers  poyfon,  or  the  loffe  of  honour.  210 

Yet  rather  then  my  fathers  reuerent  duft 

Shall  want  a  place  in  that  faire  monument, 

In  which  our  noble  Anceftors  lye  intomb'd. 

Before  the  Court  I  ofifer  vp  my  felfe 

A  prifoner  for  it:  loade  me  with  thofe  yrons  215 

That  haue  worne  out  his  life,  in  my  beft  ftrength 

He  run  to  th'  incounter  of  cold  hunger. 

And  choose  my  dwelling  where  no  Sun  dares  enter, 

So  he  may  be  releas'd. 

1  Cred.  What  meane  you  fir? 

2  Aduo.     Onely  your  fee  againe :  ther's  fo  much  fayd  220 
Already  in  this  caufe,  and  fayd  fo  well. 

That  fhould  I  onely  offer  to  fpeake  in  it, 
I  fhould  not  bee  heard,  or  laught  at  for  it. 

I  Cred.     'Tis  the  firft  mony  aduocate  ere  gaue  backe, 
Though  hee  fayd  nothing. 

Roch.  Be  aduis'd,  young  Lord,  225 

And  well  confiderate,  you  throw  away 
Your  liberty,  and  ioyes  of  life  together : 
Your  bounty  is  imployd  vpon  a  fubiect 
That  is  not  fenfible  of  it,  with  which,  wife  man 

Neuer  abus'd  his  goodneffe  ;  the  great  vertues  230 

Of  your  dead  father  vindicate  themfelues, 
From  thefe  mens  malice,  and  breake  ope  the  prifon. 
Though  it  containe  his  body. 

Nou.  Se.  Let  him  alone, 

If  he  loue  Lords,  a  Gods  name  let  him  weare  'em, 
Prouided  thefe  confent. 

217     th'  incounter — the  incounter  (C,  f. 

217,  after  cold    — ,  (G.,  S. — a  plausible  but  unnecessary  emendation. 

223    not  he — he  or  not  (G. — or  not  he  (S. 

234    Lords — cords  (C.,  f. 

234    a — in  (G.,  S. 

234    'em — them  (G.,  S. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  67 

Char.  I  hope  they  are  not  235 

So  ignorant  in  any  way  of  profit, 
As  to  neglect  a  poffi'bility 
To  get  their  owne,  by  feeking  it  from  that 
Which  can  returne  them  nothing,  but  ill  fame. 
And  curfes  for  their  barbarous  cruelties.  240 

5  Cred.     What  thinke  you  of  the  offer  ? 

2  Cred.  Very  well. 

1  Cred.     Accept  it  by  afi  meanes :  let's  fhut  him  vp, 
He  is  well-fhaped  and  has  a  villanous  tongue, 

And  fhould  he  ftudy  that  way  of  reuenge, 

As  I  dare  almoft  fweare  he  loues  a  wench,  245 

We  haue  no  wiues,  nor  neuer  fhall  get  daughters 

That  will  hold  out  againft  him. 

Du  Croy.  What's  your  anfwer? 

2  Cred.     Speake  you  for  all. 

/  Cred.  Why  let  our  executions 

That  lye  vpon  the  father,  bee  return'd 
Vpon  the  fonne,  and  we  releafe  the  body.  250 

Nou.  Se.    The  Court  muft  grant  you  that. 

Char.  I  thanke  your  Lordfhips, 

They  haue  in  it  confirm'd  on  me  fuch  glory, 
As  no  time  can  take  from  me :  I  am  ready, 
Come  lead  me  where, you  pleafe:  captiuity 

That  comes  with  honour,  is  true  liberty.  255 

Exit  Charmi,  Cred.  &  Officers. 

Nou.  Se.     Strange  rafhneffe. 

Roch.  A  braue  refolution  rather, 

Worthy  a  better  fortune,  but  howeuer 
It  is  not  now  to  be  difputed,  therefore 
To  my  owne  caufe.     Already  I  haue  found 

Your  Lordfhips  bountifuU  in  your  fauours  to  me;  260 

And  that  fhould  teach  my  modefty  to  end  heere 
And  preffe  your  loues  no  further. 

243  n  in  tongue  inverted  in  Q. 

244  u  in  reuenge  inverted  in  Q. 

246  never — ever  (C,  M. 

247  n  in  anfwer  inverted  in  Q. 

After  255,  s.  d. :  C.  &  M.  substitute  Charalois  for  Charmi;  G.  &  S.  insert 
Charalois  before  Charmi, 


68 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY 


^^  Croy.  There  is  nothing 

The  Court  can  grant,  but  with  affurance  you 
May  aske  it  and  obtaine  it. 

Roch.  You  incourage 

A  bold  Petitioner,  and  'tis  not  fit  265 

Your  fauours  fhould  be  loft.     Befides,  'tas  beene 
A  cuftome  many  yeeres,  at  the  furrendring 
The  place  I  now  giue  vp,  to  grant  the  Prefident 
One  iboone,  that  parted  with  it.     And  to  confirme 
Your  grace  towards  me,  againft  all  fuch  as  may  270 

Detract  my  actions,  and  life  hereafter, 
I  now  preferre  it  to  you. 

Dti  Croy.  Speake  it  freely. 

Roch.     I  then  defire  the  liberty  of  Romont, 
And  that  my  Lord  Nouall,  whofe  priuate  wrong 

Was  equall  to  the  iniurie  that  was  done  275 

To  the  dignity  of  the  Court,  will  pardon  it. 
And  now  figne  his  enlargement. 

Nou.  Se.  Pray  you  demand 

The  moyety  of  my  eftate,  or  any  thing 
Within  my  power,  but  this. 

Roch.  Am  I  denyed  then — 

My  first  and  laft  requeft? 

Du  Croy.  It  muft  not  be.  280 

2  Pre.     I  haue  a  voyce  to  giue  in  it. 

5  Pre.  And  I. 

And  if  perfwafion  will  not  worke  him  to  it, 
We  will  make  knowne  our  power. 

Nou.  Se.  You  are  too  violent, 

You  fhall  haue  my  confent — But  would  you  had 

Made  try  all  of  my  loue  in  any  thing  285 

But  this,  you  fhould  haue  found  then — But  it  skills  not. 
You  haue  what  you  defire. 

Roch.  I  thanke  your  Lordfhips. 

Du  Croy.     The  court  is  vp,  make  way.  Ex.  omnes,  praeter 

264  and  265     You  .  .  .  fit — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

266    Uas—t  has  (C,  M.,  S.;  'fas  (G. 

279  and  280    Am  .  .  .  requeft f — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY  69 

Roch.  I  follow  you —    Roch.  &  Beaumont. 

Baumont. 

Baum.     My  Lord. 

Roch.  You  are  a  fcholler,  Baumont, 

And  can  fearch  deeper  into  th'  intents  of  men,  290 

Then  thofe  that  are  leffe  knowing — How  appear'd 
The  piety  and  braue  behauior  of 
Young  Charloyes  to  you  ? 

Baum.  r-It  is  my  wonder, 

Since  I  want  language  to  expreffe  it  fully ; 
And  fure  the  Collonell — 

Roch.  Fie/  he  was  faulty —  295 

What  prefent  mony  haue  I? 

Baum.  There  is  no  want 

Of  any  fumme  a  priuate  man  has  ufe  for. 

Roch.  'Tis  well : 

I  am  ftrangely  taken  with  this  Charaloyes; 
Me  thinkes,  from  his  example,  the  whole  age 

Should  learne  to  be  good,  and  continue  fo.  300 

Vertue  workes  ftrangely  with  vs:  and  his  goodneffe 
Rifing  aboue  his  fortune,  feemes  to  me 
Princelike,  to  will,  not  afke  a  courtefie.         Exeunt. 

288  and  289    /  follow  you — Baumont — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 
290    M— the  (G.,  S. 

295  and  296    Fie  .  .  .  If — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

296  There  is — There's  (G.,  S. 


Act.  fecundus.      Sccena  prima: 

[A  Street  before  the  Prison] 

Enter  Pontalier,  Malotin,  Baumont. 

Mai  T^  IS  ftrange. 

1     Baum.  Me  thinkes  fo. 

Pont.  In  a  man,  but  young, 

Yet  old  in  iudgement,  theorique,  and  practicke 
In  all  humanity  (and  to  increafe  the  wonder) 
Religious,  yet  a  Souldier,  that  he  fhould 

Yeeld  his  free  lining  youth  a  captiue,  for  5 

The  freedome  of  his  aged  fathers  Corpes, 
And  rather  choofe  to  want  lifes  neceffaries, 
Liberty,  hope  of  fortune,  then  it  fhould 
In  death  be  kept  from  Chriftian  ceremony, 

Malo.     Come,  'Tis  a  golden  prefident  in  a  Sonne,  lO 

To  let  ftrong  nature  haue  the  better  hand, 
(In  fuch  a  cafe)  of  all  affected  reafon. 
What  yeeres  fits  on  this  Charolois  ? 

Baum.  Twenty  eight, 

For  fince  the  clocke  did  strike  him  17  old 

Vnder  his  fathers  wing,  this  Sonne  hath  fought,  15 

Seru'd  and  commanded,  and  fo  aptly  both. 
That  fometimes  he  appear'd  his  fathers  father, 
And  neuer  leffe  then's  fonne ;  the  old  man's  vertues 
So  recent  in  him,  as  the  world  may  fweare. 
Nought  but  a  faire  tree,  could  fuch  fayre  fruit  beare.  20 

Pont.     But  wherefore  lets  he  fuch  a  barbarous  law, 
And  men  more  barbarous  to  execute  it, 

2    m  in  iudgement  inverted  in  Q. 

13    fits— fit  (C,  f. 

13  and  14    Twenty  eight  .  .  .  old — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

18     then*s — than  his  (M. 

70 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  71 

Preuaile  on  his  foft  difpofition, 

That  he  had  rather  dye  aliue  for  debt 

Of  the  old  man  in  prifon,  then  he  fhould  25 

Rob  him  of  Sepulture,  confidering 

Thefe  monies  borrow'd  bought  the  lenders  peace, 

And  all  their  meanes  they  inioy,  nor  was  diffus'd 

In  any  impious  or  licencious  path? 

Ban.     True :  for  my  part,  were  it  my  fathers  trunke,  30 

The  tyrannous  Ram-heads,  with  their  homes  fhould  gore  it, 
Or,  caft  it  to  their  curres  (than  they)  leffe  currifh, 
Ere  prey  on  me  fo,  with  their  Lion-law, 
Being  in  my  free  will  (as  in  his)  to  fhun  it. 

Pont.     Alaffe!  he  knowes  him  felfe  (in  pouerty)  loft:  35 

For  in  this  parciall  auaricious  age 
What  price  beares  Honor?  Vertue?  Long  agoe 
It  was  but  prays'd,  and  freez'd,  but  now  a  dayes 
'Tis  colder  far,  and  has,  nor  loue,  nor  praife, 

Very  prayfe  now  f reezeth  too :  for  nature  40 

Did  make  the  heathen,  far  more  Chriftian  then, 
Then  knowledge  vs  (leffe  heathenifh)  Chriftian. 

Malo.     This  morning  is  the  funerall. 

Pont.  Certainely ! 

And  from  this  prifon  'twas  the  fonnes  requeft 

That  his  deare  father  might  interment  haue.         Recorders  45 

See,  the  young  fonne  interd  a  liuely  graue.  Miifique, 

Baum.     They  come,  obferue  their  order. 
Enter  Funerall.     Body  home  by  4.     Captaines  and  Souldiers, 

25    he — they  (C,  M.,  G. 

28     their— the  (G.,  S.  '    • 

28    was — zvere  (G.,  S. 

40    G.  &  S.  insert  The  at  beginning  of  line. 

43,  after  funerall    .    — ?  (G.,  S. 

44  and  45  G.  &  S.  punctuate  with  .  at  end  of  44  and  ,  at  end  of  45.  The 
emendation  is  plausible,  even  probable,  but  not  warranted  by  necessity. 

45  and  46    G.  &  S.  omit  s.  d.,  Recorders  Mufique, 

46  interd — interr'd  (M. — enter' d  (G.,  S.     See  Notes. 

After  47,  s.  d. — G.  &  S.  render :  Solemn  music.  Enter  the  Funeral  Pro- 
cession. The  Coffin  home  by  four,  preceeded  by  a  Priest.  Captains,  Lieu- 
tenants, Ensigns,  and  Soldiers ;  Mourners,  Scutcheons  S'c,  and  very  good 
order.  Romont  and  Charalois,  followed  by  the  Gaolers  and  Officers,  with 
Creditors,  7neet  it. 


72  THE   FATAL   DOWRY 

Mourners,  Scutchions,  and  very  good  order.     Charolois, 

and  Romont  meet  it.     Char,  /peaks.     Rom.  weeping, 

folemne  Mujique,  5  Creditors. 

Char.     How  like  a  filent  ftreame  fhaded  with  night, 
And  ghding  foftly  with  our  windy  fighes ; 

Moues  the  whole  frame  of  this  folemnity !  50 

Teares,  fighs,  and  blackes,  filling  the  fimily, 
Whilft  I  the  onely  murmur  in  this  groue 
Of  death,  thus  hollowly  break  forth !  Vouchfafe 
To  ftay  a  while,  reft,  reft  in  peace,  deare  earth. 

Thou  that  brought'ft  reft  to  their  vnthankfull  lyues,  55 

Whofe  cruelty  deny'd  thee  reft  in  death : 
Heere  ftands  thy  poore  Executor  thy  fonne, 
That  makes  his  life  prifoner,  to  bale  thy  death ; 
Who  gladlier  puts  on  this  captiuity, 

Then  Virgins  long  in  loue,  their  wedding  weeds :  60 

Of  all  that  euer  thou  haft  done  good  to, 
Thefe  onely  haue  good  memories,  for  they 
Remember  beft,  forget  not  gratitude. 
I  thanke  you  for  this  laft  and  friendly  loue. 

And  tho  this  Country,  like  a  viperous  mother,  v  65 

Not  onely  hath  eate  vp  vngrate fully 
All  meanes  of  thee  her  fonne,  but  laft  thy  felfe. 
Leaning  thy  heire  fo  bare  and  indigent. 
He  cannot  rayfe  thee  a  poore  Monument, 

Such  as  a  flatterer,  or  a  vfurer  hath.  70 

Thy  worth,  in  euery  honeft  breft  buyldes  one. 
Making  their  friendly  hearts  thy  funerall  ftone. 

Pont.     Sir. 

Char.     Peace,  O  peace,  this  fceane  is  wholy  mine. 
What  weepe  ye,  fouldiers?  Blanch  not,  Romont  weepes.  75 

Ha,  let  me  fee,  my  miracle  is  eaf'd, 
The  iaylors  and  the  creditors  do  weepe ; 
Euen  they  that  make  vs  weepe,  do  weepe  themfelues. 
Be  thefe  thy  hodies  balme :  thefe  and  thy  vertue 
Keepe  thy  fame  euer  odoriferous,  80 

After  53  G.  &  S.  insert  s.  d. :  To  the  Bearers,  who  set  down  the  Coffin. 
After  64  G.  &  S.  insert  s.  d. :  To  the  Soldiers. 
75,  after  What    —!  (C.,  f. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  73 

Whilft  the  great,  proud,  rich,  vndeferuing  man, 

Aliue  ftinkes  in  his  vices,  and  being  vanifh'd. 

The  golden  calfe  that  was  an  Idoll  dect 

With  marble  pillars  let,  and  Porphyrie, 

Shall  quickly  both  in  bone  and  name  confume,  85 

Though  wrapt  in  lead,  fpice,  Searecloth  and  perfume 

I  Cred.     Sir. 

Char.     What !     Away  for  fhame  :  you  prophane  rogues 
Muft  not  be  mingled  with^efe  holy  reliques : 

This  is  a  Sacrifice,  our  fhowre  fhall  crowne  90 

His  fepulcher  with  Oliue,  Myrrh  and  Bayes 
The  plants  of  peace,  of  forrow,  victorie. 
Your  teares  would  fpring  but  weedes. 

1  Cred.  Would  they  not  fo? 
Wee'll  keepe  them  to  ftop  bottles  then : 

Rom.  No  ;  keepe  'em 

For  your  owne  fins,  you  Rogues,  till  you  repent :  95 

You'll  dye  elfe  and  be  damn'd. 

2  Cred.  Damn'd,  ha !  ha,  ha. 
Rom.     Laugh  yee? 

5  Cred.  Yes  faith.  Sir,  weel'd  be  very  glad 

To  pleafe  you  eyther  way. 

1  Cred.  Y'are  ne're  content. 
Crying  nor  laughing. 

Rom.     Both  with  a  birth  fhee  rogues. 

2  Cred.  Our  wiues,  Sir,  taught  vs.  100 
Rom.     Looke,  looke,  you  flaues,  your  thankleffe  cruelty 

And  fauage  manners,  of  vnkind  Dijon, 
Exhauft  thefe  flouds,  and  not  his  fathers  death. 

I  Cred.     Slid,  Sir,  what  would  yee,  ye'are  fo  cholericke  ? 

93  Would  they  not  fo? — Would  they  so?   (C,  M.,  G. — Would  they? 
Not  so.     (S.     See  Notes. 

94,  95,  and  96    Lines  in  Q. :  Wee'll  .  .  .  then:  \  No  .  .  .  Rogues,  \  Till  .  .  . 
damn'd.   \  Damn'd  .  .  .  ha. 

94  'em — them  (G.,  S. 

95  Rogues — rogue  (S. 

97  weel'd — we  would  (M.,  f. 

98  Y'are— Ye're  (C.,  U.—You  are  (G.,  S. 

100    fhee — ye  (M.,  f.    The  emendation  is  probably  correct. 

100,  after  rogues  .    — ?  (G.,  S. 

104    yee,  ye'are — you,  you're  (C.,  M.,  G. 


74  THE    FATAL    DOWRY 

2  Cred.     Moft  foldiers  are  fo  yfaith,  let  him  alone :  105 

They  haue  little  elfe  to  Hue  on,  we  haue  not  had 
A  penny  of  him,  haue  we  ? 

S  Cred.  'Slight,  wo'd  you  haue  our  hearts  ? 

I  Cred.     We  haue  nothing  buc  l."s  body  heere  in  durance 
For  all  our  mony. 

Prieft.  On. 

Char.  One  moment  more, 

But  to  be f tow  a  few  poore  legacy es,  no 

All  I  haue  left  in  my  dead  fathers  rights. 
And  I  haue  done.     Captaine,  weare  thou  thefe  fpurs 
That  yet  ne're  made  his  horfe  runne  from  a  foe. 
Lieutenant,  thou,  this  Scarfe,  and  may  it  tye 

Thy  valor,  and  thy  honeftie  together :  115 

For  fo  it  did  in  him.     Enfigne,  this  Curace 
Your  Generalls  necklace  once.    You  gentle  Bearers, 
Deuide  this  purfe  of  gold,  this  other,  ftrow 
Among  the  poore :  t  is  all  I  haue.     Romont, 

(Weare  thou  this  medall  of  himfelfe)  that  like  120 

A  hearty  Oake,  grew'ft  clofe  to  this  tall  Pine, 
Euen  in  the  wildeft  wildernefe  of  war. 
Whereon  foes  broke  their  fwords,  and  tyr'd  themfelues ; 
Wounded  and  hack'd  yee  were,  but  neuer  fell'd. 

For  me  my  portion  prouide  in  Heauen :  125 

My  roote  is  earth'd,  and  I  a  defolate  branch 
Left  fcattered  in  the  high  way  of  the  world, 
Trod  vnder  foot,  that  might  haue  bin  a  Columne, 
Mainly  fupporting  our  demolifh'd  houfe, 

This  would  I  weare  as  my  inheritance.  130 

And  what  hope  can  arife  to  me  from  it. 
When  I  and  it  are  both  heere  prifoners  ? 
Onely  may  this,  if  euer  we  be  free, 
Keepe,  or  redeeme  me  from  all  infamie.  Song.     Muficke. 

105  2  Cred. — /  Cred.  (M.,  probably  misprint. 

106  They  have — They've  (C,  M. 
106     We  have — We've  (C,  f. 

108     We  haue — we've  (M. 
Ill     rights — right  (M. 
132    both  heere — here  both  (M. 

134    s  d:  Song.    Muficke. — i.  e.  the  First  Song,  on  page  145.    —intro- 
duced here  in  text  by  all  editors  save  Gifford  and  Coleridge. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  75 

/  Cred,     No  farther,  looke  to  'em  at  your  owne  perill.  135 

2  Cred,     No,  as  they  pleafe :  their  Mafter's  a  good  man. 
I  would  they  were  the  Burmudas. 

Saylor,  You  muft  no  further. 

The  prifon  Hmits  you,  and  the  Creditors 
Exact  the  ftrictneffe. 

Rom.  Out  you  wooluish  mungrells  ! 

Whofe  braynes  fhould  be  knockt  out,  like  dogs  in  luly,  140 

Lefte  your  infection  poyfofT  a  whole  towne. 

Char.     They  grudge  our  lorrow :  your  ill  wills  perforce 
Turnes  now  to  Charity :  they  would  not  haue  vs 
Walke  too  farre  mourning,  vfurers  reliefe 
Grieues,  if  the  Debtors  haue  too  much  of  griefe.        Exeunt.  145 


[SCENE  II] 

[A  Room  in  Rochfort's  House.] 

Enter  Beaumelle:  Florimell:  Bellapert. 

Beau.     I  prithee  tell  me,  Florimell,  why  do  women  marry? 

Flor.     Why  truly  Madam,  I  thinke,  to  lye  with  their  hus- 
bands. 

Bella.    You  are  a  f  oole  :  She  lyes,  Madam,  women  marry  husbands, 
To  lye  with  other  men.  5 

Flor.     Faith  eene  fuch  a  woman  wilt  thou  make.     By  this 
light,  Madam,  this  wagtaile  will  fpoyle  you,  if  you  take 
delight  in  her  licence. 

Beau.     Tis  true,  Florimell:  and  thou  wilt  make  me  too  good 
for  a  yong  Lady.    What  an  electuary  found  my  father  out  for  10 

his  daughter,  when  hee  compounded  you  two  my  women? 
for  thou,  Florimell,  art  eene  a  graine  to  heauy,  fimply  for  a 
wayting  Gentlewoman. 

Flor.    And  thou  Bellapert,  a  graine  too  light. 

135    'em — them  (G.,  S. 

137,  after  were    — at  inserted  by  C,  f. 

137    vS'a:y/or^mi sprint  for  laylor, — emended  by  C,  f. 

143     Turnes — Turn  (M.,  f. 

^    eene — even  (G.,  S. 
12    eene — even  (G.,  S. 


76  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

Bella.     Well,  go  thy  wayes  goodly  wifdom,  whom  no  body  15 

regards.     I  wonder,  whether  be  elder  thou  or  thy  hood :  you 
thinke,  becaufe  you  ferue  my  Laydes  mother,  are  32  yeeres 
old  which  is  a  peepe  out,  you  know. 

Flor.     Well  fayd,  wherligig. 

Bella.     You  are  deceyu'd  :  I  want  a  peg  ith'  middle.  20 

Out  of  thefe  Prerogatiues !  you  thinke  to  be  mother  of  the 
maydes  heere,  &  mortifie  em  with  prouerbs :  goe,  goe,  gouern 
the  fweet  meates,  and  waigh  the  Suger,  that  the  wenches 
fteale  none :  fay  your  prayers  twice  a  day,  and  as  I  take  it,  you 
haue  performd  your  function.  25 

Flor.     I  may  bee  euen  with  you. 

Bell.     Harke,  the  Court's  broke  vp.     Goe  helpe  my  old  Lord 
out  of  his  Caroch,  and  fcratch  his  head  till  dinner  time. 

Flor.     Well.  Exit. 

Bell.     Fy  Madam,  how  you  walke !    By  my  mayden-head  30 

you  looke  7  yeeres  older  then  you  did  this  morning :  why, 
there  can  be  nothing  vnder  the  Sunne  vanuable,  to  make  you 
thus  a  minute. 

Beau.     Ah  my  fweete  Bellapert  thou  Cabinet 
To  all  my  counfels,  thou  doft  know  the  caufe  35 

That  makes  thy  Lady  wither  thus  in  youth. 

Bel.     Vd'd-light,  enioy  your  wifhes :  whilft  I  Hue, 
One  way  or  other  you  fhall  crowne  your  will. 
Would  you  haue  him  your  husband  that  you  loue, 

And  can't  not  bee  ?  he  is  your  feruant  though,  40 

And  may  performe  the  office  of  a  husband. 

Beau.     But  there  is  honor,  wench. 

Bell.  Such  a  difeafe 

There  is  in  deed,  for  which  ere  I  would  dy. — 

Beau.     Prethee,  diftinguifh  me  a  mayd  &  wife. 

Bell.     Faith,  Madam,  one  may  beare  any  mans  children,  45 

Tother  muft  beare  no  mans. 

17  jerue — served  (G.,  S.    See  Notes. 

18  Peepe— pip  (M.,  f. 
20  ith' — in  the  (G.,  S. 
22  em — them  G.,  S. 

37    Vd'd—Uds—(M.,  f; 
40    can't — can  it  (M.,  f. 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY  77 

Beau.  What  is  a  husband? 

Bell.     Physicke,  that  tumbling  in  your  belly,  will  make  you 
ficke  ith'  ftomacke :  the  onely  diftinction  betwixt  a  husband 
and  a  feruant  is :  the  firft  will  lye  with  you,  when  he  pleafe ; 
the  laft  shall  lye  with  you  when  you  pleafe.     Pray  tell  me,  50 

Lady,  do  you  loue,  to  marry  after,  or  would  you  marry,  to 
loue  after. 

Beau.     I  would  meete  loue  and  marriage  both  at  once. 

Bell.     Why  then  you  afe  out  of  the  fafhion,  and  wilbe  con- 
temn'd;  for  (He  affure  you)  there  are  few  women  i'th  world,  55 

but  either  they  haue  married  firft,  and  loue  after,  or  loue 
firft,  and  marryed  after :  you  muft  do  as  you  may,  not  as  you 
would :  your  fathers  will  is  the  Goale  you  muft  fly  to :  if  a 
husband  approach  you,  you  would  haue  further  off,  is  he  your 
loue  ?  the  leffe  neere  you.     A  husband  in  thefe  days  is  but  a  60 

cloake  to  bee  oftner  layde  vpon  your  bed,  then  in  your 
bed. 

Baum.     Humpe. 

Bell.     Sometimes  you  may  weare  him  on  your  fhoulder, 
now  and  then  vnder  your  arme :  but  feldome  or  neuer  let  him  65 

couer  you :  for  'tis  not  the  fafhion. 

Enter  y.  Nouall,  Pontalier,  Malotin,  Lilladam,  Aymer. 

Nou.     Beft  day  to  natures  curiofity. 
Star  re  of  Dijum,  the  luftre  of  all  France, 
Perpetuall  fpring  dwell  on  thy  rofy  cheekes, 

Whofe  breath  is  perfume  to  our  Continent,  70 

See  Flora  turn'd  in  her  varieties. 

Bell.     Oh  diuine  Lord! 

Nou.     No  autumne,  nor  no  age  euer  approach 
This  heauenly  piece,  which  nature  hauing  wrought, 

48  ith' — in  the  (G.,  S. 

49  pleafe — pleases  (C,  M.,  G. 
55    He— I  will  (G.,  S. 

55    i*th — in  the  (M.,  f. 

59  your — you  (M.  (in  corrigenda  at  end  of  vol.  4).  f-    A  correct  emen- 
dation. 

60  louef  the  leffe  neare  you. — love  the  less  near  you?  (M.,  f. 
63    Humpe — Hum  (C.,  M. ;  Humph  (G.,  S. 

64,  after  fhoulder,    — C.  &  M.  insert  and. 

67    Nou. — C.,  f.  affix  Junior  throughout'. 

71     turn'd — trimm'd  (G.,  S.    Emend,  sug.  by  M. 


78  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

She  loft  her  needle  and  did  then  defpaire,  75 

Euer  to  work  fo  liuely  and  fo  faire. 

Lilad.  Vds  light,  my  Lord  one  of  the  purles  of  your  band 
is  (without  all  difcipline  falne)  out  of  his  ranke. 

Nou.     How?  I  would  not  for  a  1000  crownes  she  had  feen't. 
Deare  Liladam,  reforme  it.  8t) 

Bell.  O  Lord :  Per  fe,  Lord,  quinteffence  of  honour, 
fhee  walkes  not  vnder  a  weede  that  could  deny  thee  any 
thing. 

Baum.     Prethy  peace,  wench,  thou  doft  but  blow  the  fire, 
'that  flames  too  much  already.  Lilad.  Aym.  trim  Nouall,      85 

Aym.     By  gad,  my  Lord,  you  haue  the  diui-        whilft  Bell  her 
neft  Taylor  of  Chriftendome ;  he  hath  made  Lady. 

you  looke  like  an  Angell  in  your  cloth  of  Tiffue  doublet. 

Pont.  This  is  a  three-leg'd  Lord,  ther's  a  f refh  affault,  oh 
that  men  fhould  fpend  time  thus !  90 

See  fee,  how  her  blood  driues  to  her  heart,  and  ftraight 
vaults  to  her  cheekes  againe. 

Malo.     What  are  thefe? 

Pont.  One  of  'em  there  the  lower  is  a  good,  foolifh,  kna- 
uifh  fociable  gallimaufry  of  a  man,  and  has  much  taught  95 

my  Lord  with  tinging,  hee  is  mafter  of  a  muficke  houfe :  the 
other  is  his  dreffing  blocke,  vpon  whom  my  Lord  layes  all 
his  cloathes,  and  fafhions,  ere  he  vouchfafes  'em  his  owne 
perfon ;  you  fhall  fee  him  i'th  morning  in  the  Gally-foyft,  at 
noone  in  the  Bullion,  i'th  euening  in  Quirpo,  and  all  night  100 

in — 

Malo.     A  Bawdy  houfe. 

Pont.  If  my  Lord  deny,  they  deny,  if  hee  affirme,  they  af- 
firme :  they  fkip  into  my  Lords  caft  skins  fome  twice  a  yeere, 
and  thus  they  Hue  to  eate,  eate  to  liue,  and  Hue  to  prayfe  my  105 

Lord. 

78    difcipline  falne)  out — discipline,  fallen  out  (C,  f. 

81    Lord:  Per  fe,  Lord — lord  per  se,  lord!  (G.,  S. 

94  *em — them  (G.,  S. 

95  taught — caught  (M.,  f. 

98  'em — them  (G.,  S. 

99  i'th — in  the  (G.,  S. 

100  Quirpo— thus  C.  &  G. ;  M.  &  S.  read  Querpo. 

104  fkip — See  Notes. 

105  liue  to  eate — for  liue,  G.  reads  flatters;  S   reads  lie,  which  is  prob- 
ably right. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  79 

Malo.     Good  fir,  tell  me  one  thing. 

Pont.     What's  that? 

Malo.     Dare  thefe  men  euer  fight,  on  any  caufe? 

Pont.     Oh  no, 't  would  fpoyle  their  cloathes,  and  put  their  no 

bands  out  of  order. 

Nou.     Mrs,  you  heare  the  news :  your  father  has  refign'd 
his  Prefidentfhip  to  my  Lord  my  father. 

Malo.     And  Lord  Charolois  vndone  foreuer. 

Pont.  -  Troth,  'tis  pity,  fir. 

A  brauer  hope  of  fo  affur'd  a  father  115 

Did  neuer  comfort  France. 

Lilad.  A  good  dumbe  mourner. 

Aym.     A  filent  blacke. 
As  if  he  had  come  this  Chriftmas  from  St.  Omers, 

Nou.     Oh  fie  vpon  him,  how  he  weares  his  cloathes ! 
To  fee  his  friends,  and  return'd  after  Twelfetyde.  120 

Lilad.     His  Colonell  lookes  fienely  like  a  drouer. 

Nou.     That  had  a  winter  ly'n  perdieu  i'th  rayne. 

Aym.     What,  he  that  weares  a  clout  about  his  necke, 
His  cufifes  in's  pocket,  and  his  heart  in's  mouth? 

Nou.     Now  out  vpon  him ! 

Beau.  Seruant,  tye  my  hand.  125 

How  your  lips  blufh,  in  fcorne  that  they  fhould  pay 
Tribute  to  hands,  when  lips  are  in  the  way ! 

Nou.     I  thus  recant,  yet  now  your  hand  looks  white 
Becaufe  your  lips  robd  it  of  fuch  a  right. 

Mounfieur  Aymour,  I  prethy  fing  the  fong  130 

Deuoted  to  my  Mrs.  Cant.  Muficke. 

After  the  Song,  Enter  Rochfort,  &  Baumont. 

Baum.     Romont  will  come,  fir,  ftraight. 

Roch.  'Tis  well. 

Beau.  My  Father. 

Nouall.     My  honorable  Lord. 

Roch.     My  Lord  Nouall  this  is  a  vertue  in  you, 

112    Mrs. — Must  (C,  M. 
122    i'th—m  the  (G.,  S. 

125,  end    — s.  d. :  Nov.  jun.  kisses  her  hand.     (G.,  S. 
128,  after  recant,    — s.  d. :  Kisses  her  (G,.  S. 

131     Cant. — i.  e.  the  Second  Song,  on  page  145.    — introduced  here  in 
text  by  all  editors  save  Gifford  and  Coleridge. 


80  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

So  early  vp  and  ready  before  noone,  135 

That  are  the  map  of  dreffing  through  all  France. 

Nou.     I  rife  to  fay  my  prayers,  fir,  heere's  my  Saint. 

Roch.     Tis  well  and  courtly ;  you  muft  giue  me  leaue, 
I  haue  fome  priuate  conference  with  my  daughter, 
Pray  vfe  my  garden,  you  fhall  dine  with  me.  140 

Lilad.     Wee'l  waite  on  you. 

Nou.                                           Good  morne  vnto  your  Lordfhip, 
Remember  what  you  haue  vow'd to  his  Mrs.         Exeunt 

Beau.  Performe  I  muft.     omnes  praeter  Roch.  Daug. 

Roch.     Why  how  now  Beaumelle,  thou  look'ft  not  well. 
Th'  art  fad  of  late,  come  cheere  thee,  I  haue  found 
A  wholefome  remedy  for  thefe  may  den  fits,  145 

A  goodly  Oake  whereon  to  twift  my  vine. 
Till*  her  f aire  branches  grow  vp  to  the  ftarres. 
Be  neere  at  hand,  fucceffe  crowne  my  intent. 
My  bufineffe  fills  my  little  time  fo  full, 

I  cannot  ftand  to  talke:  I  know,  thy  duty  150 

Is  handmayd  to  my  will,  efpecially 
When  it  prefents  nothing  but  good  and  fit. 

Beau.     Sir,  I  am  yours.     Oh  if  my  teares  proue  true.     Exit 
Fate  hath  wrong'd  loue,  and  will  deftroy  me  too.  Daug 

Enter  Romont  keeper 

Rom.     Sent  you  for  me,  fir? 

Roch.  Yes. 

Rom.  Your  Lordf  hips  pleafure  ?  155 

Roch.     Keeper,  this  prifoner  I  will  fee  forth  comming 
Vpon  my  word — Sit  downe  good  Colonell.         Exit  keeper. 
Why  I  did  wifh  you  hither,  noble  fir, 
Is  to  aduife  you  from  this  yron  carriage. 

Which,  fo  affected,  Romont,  you  weare,  160 

To  pity  and  to  counfell  yee  fubmit 
With  expedition  to  the  great  Nouall: 

144  Th'  art — Thou  art  (G.,  S. 

153  ^^ar^.y— thus  C.  &  M. ;— G.  &  S.  read  fears,  which  seems  a  fitter 

word  here. 

153  s.  d. — G.  &  S.  read,  Aside  and  exit. 

159  affected — affectedly  (S. 
159,  after  you    — C.,  M.,  &  G.  insert  will. 

161  yee — you  (C.,  f. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  81 

Recant  your  fterne  contempt,  and  flight  neglect 

Of  thcwhole  Court,  and  him,  and  opportunity, 

Or  you  will  vndergoe  a  heauy  cenfure  165 

In  publique  very  fhortly. 

Rom.  Hum  hum :  reuerend  fir, 

I  haue  obferu'd  you,  and  doe  know  you  well. 
And  am  now  more  affraid  you  know  not  me. 
By  wifhing  my  fubmiffion  to  Nouall, 

Then  I  can  be  of  all  the  bellowing  mouthes  170 

That  waite  vpon  him  to  pronounce  the  cenfure. 
Could  it  determine  me  torments,  and  fhame. 
Submit,  and  craue  forgiueneffe  of  a  beaft? 
Tis  true,  this  bile  of  ftate  weares  purple  Tiffue. 

Is  high  fed,  proud:  fo  is  his  Lordfhips  horfe,  175 

And  beares  as  rich  Caparifons.     I  know. 
This  Elephant  carries  on  his  back  not  onely 
Towres,  Caftles,  but  the  ponderous  republique. 
And  neuer  ftoops  for't,  with  his  ftrong  breath  trunk 
SnufTes  others  titles,  Lordfhips,  Offices,  180 

Wealth,  bribes,  and  lyues,  vnder  his  rauenous  iawes. 
Whats  this  vnto  my  freedome?     I  dare  dye; 
And  therefore  afke  this  Cammell,  if  thefe  bleffings 
(For  fo  they  would  be  vnderftood  by  a  man) 

But  mollifie  one  rudeneffe  in  his  nature,  185 

Sweeten  the  eager  relifh  of  the  law, 
At  whofe  great  helme  he  fits :  helps  he  the  poore 
In  a  iuft  bufineffe  ?  nay,  does  he  not  croffe 
Euery  deferued  fouldier  and  fcholler. 

As  if  when  nature  made  him,  fhe  had  made  190 

The  generall  Antipathy  of  all  vertue? 
How  fauagely,  and  blafphemoufly  hee  fpake 
Touching  the  Generall,  the  graue  Generall  dead, 

164  opportunity— opportunely  (M.,  f.    The  emendation  is  probably  cor- 
rect. 

165  Hum  hum — omitted  by  C,  M.,  &  G. 
172,  after  me    — C.  &  M.  insert  to. 

174    hile — boil  (C,  f.    See  Notes. 
179    breath — breath' d  (M.,  f. 
193    graue — brave  (M.,  f. 


82  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

I  muft  weepe  when  I  thinke  on't. 

Roch.  Sir 

Rom.  My  Lord, 

I  am  not  ftubborne,  I  can  melt,  you  fee,  195 

And  prize  a  vertue  better  then  my  life : 
For  though  I  be  not  learnd,  I  euer  lou'd 
That  holy  Mother  of  all  iffues,  good, 
Whofe  white  hand  (for  a  Scepter)  holds  a  File 

To  pollifh  rougheft  cuftomes,  and  in  you  2CX) 

She  has  her  right:  fee,  I  am  calme  as  fleepe. 
But  when  I  thinke  of  the  groffe  iniuries 
The  godleffe  wrong  done,  to  my  Generall  dead, 
I  raue  indeed,  and  could  eate  this  Nouall 
A  Ifoule-effe  Dromodary. 

Roch.  Oh  bee  temperate,  205 

Sir,  though  I  would  perfwade.  Tie  not  conftraine : 
Each  mans  opinion  freely  is  his  owne. 
Concerning  any  thing  or  any  body, 
Be  it  right  or  wrong,  tis  at  the  ludges  perill. 

Enter  Baiimond, 

Bau.     Thefe  men.  Sir,  waite  without,  my  Lord  is  come  too.         210 

Roch.     Pay  'em  thofe  fummes  vpon  the  table,  take 
Their  full  releafes :  ftay,  I  want  a  witneffe : 
Let  mee  intreat  you  Colonell,  to  walke  in, 
And  ftand  but  by,  to  fee  this  money  pay'd, 

It  does  concerne  you  and  your  friends,  it  was  215 

The  better  caufe  you  were  fent  for,  though  fayd  otherwife. 
The  deed  fhall  make  this  my  requeft  more  plaine. 

Rom.     I  fhall  obey  your  pleafure  Sir,  though  ignorant 
To  what  is  tends  ?  Exit  Seruant:  Romont. 

Roch.     Worthieft  Sir,  Enter  Charolois.  220 

You  are  moft  welcome :  fye,  no  more  of  this : 
You  haue  out-wept  a  woman,  noble  Charolois. 

194  and  195    My  Lord  .  .  .  fee, — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

198,  after  iffues    — M.,   f.  omit  ,.     A  correct  emendation. 

205  Ifoule-effe — misprint  for  soul-less — corrected  by  C,  f. 

211  'em — them  (G.,  S. 

215  friends — friend  (M.,  f. 

219  is — it  (C,  f. 

219  s.  d.,  Seruant — Beaumont  (G.,  S. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  83 

No  man  but  has,  or  muft  bury  a  father. 

Char.     Graue  Sir,  I  buried  forrow,  for  his  death, 
In  the  graue  with  him.     I  did  neuer  thinke  225 

Hee  was  immortall,  though  I  vow  I  grieue, 
And  fee  no  reafon  why  the  vicious, 
Vertuous,  vaHant  and  vnworthy  man 
Should  dye  aHke. 

Roch.  They  do  not. 

Char.  r-  In  the  manner 

Of  dying,  "Sir,  they  do  not,  but  all  dye,  230 

And  therein  differ  not :  but  I  haue  done. 
I  fpyM  the  liuely  picture  of  my  father, 
Faffing  your  gallery,  and  that  caft  this  water 
Into  mine  eyes :  fee,  f oolifh  that  I  am, 
To  let  it  doe  fo. 

Roch.  Sweete  and  gentle  nature,  235 

How  filken  is  this  well  comparatiuely 
To  other  m.en !     I  haue  a  fuite  to  you  Sir. 

Char.     Take  it,  tis  granted. 

Roch.  What? 

Char.  Nothing,  my  Lord. 

Roch.     Nothing  is^quickly  granted. 

Char.  Faith,  my  Lord, 

That  nothing  granted,  is  euen  all  I  haue,  240 

For  (all  know)  I  .haue  nothing  left  to  grant. 

Roch.     Sir,  ha'  you  any  fuite  to  me?    Ill  grant 
You  fomething,  any  thing. 

Char.     Nay  furely,  I  that  can 
Giue  nothing,  will  but  fue  for  that  againe.  245 

No  man  will  grant  mee  any  thing  I  fue  for. 
But  begging  nothing,  euery  man  will  giue't. 

Roch.     Sir,  the  loue  I  bore  your  father,  and  the  worth 
I  fee  in  you,  fo  much  refembling  his, 

Made  me  thus  fend  for  you.     And  tender  heere        Drawes  a  250 

What  euer  you  will  take,  gold,  lewels,  both,  Curtayne. 

228    man— Men  (C,  M. 
242    ha' — have  (C,  i. 

250    s.  d. :  Drawes  a  Curtayne. — G.  &  S.  add,  and  discovers  a  table  with 
money  and  jewels  upon  it. 


84  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

All,  to  fupply  your  wants,  and  free  your  lelfe. 

Where  heauenly  vertue  in  high  blouded  veines 

Is  lodg'd,  and  can  agree,  men  fhould  kneele  downe. 

Adore,  and  facrifice  all  that  they  haue"  255 

And  well  they  may,  it  is  fo  feldome  feene. 

Put  off  your  wonder,  and  heere  freely  take 

Or  fend  your  feruants.     Nor,  Sir,  fhall  you  vfe 

In  ought  of  this,  a  poore  mans  fee,  or  bribe, 

Vniuftly  taken  of  the  rich,  but  what's  260 

Directly  gotten,  and  yet  by  the  Law. 

Char.     How  ill.  Sir,  it  becomes  thofe  haires  to  mocke? 

Roch.     Mocke?  thunder  ftrike  mee  then. 

Char.  You  doe  amaze  mee: 

But  you  fhall  wonder  too,  I  will  not  take 

One  fingle  piece  of  this  great  heape :  why  fhould  I  265 

Borrow,  that  haue  not  meanes  to  pay,  nay  am 
A  very  bankerupt,  euen  in  flattering  hope 
Of  euer  rayfing  any.     All  my  begging, 
Is  Romonts  libertie.  Enter  Romont^  Creditors  loaden  with 

Roch.  Heere  is  your  friend,  mony.     Baumont. 

Enfranchift  ere  you  fpake.     I  giue  him  you,  270 

And  Charolois.     I  giue  you  to  your  friend 
As  free  a  man  as  hee ;  your  fathers  debts 
Are  taken  off. 

Char.  How  ? 

Rom.  Sir,  it  is  moft  true. 

I  am  the  witnes.  * 

1  Cred.  Yes  faith,  wee  are  pay'd. 

2  Cred.     Heauen  bleffe  his  Lordfhip,  I  did  thinke  him  wifer.       275 
J  Cred.     He  a  ftates-man,  he  an  affe  Pay  other  mens  debts? 

I  Cred.     That  he  was  neuer  bound  for. 
Rom.  One  more  fuch 

Would  faue  the  reft  of  pleaders. 

Char.  Honord  Rochfort. 

266    not — no  (G. 

269  s.  d. — G.  &  S.  omit  loaden  with  mony. 

270  Enfranchift — Enfranchise  (C. 
270,  after  him    — G.  &  S.  insert  to. 

277  and  278    Lines  in  Q. :  That  .  .  .  for.  \  One  .  .  .  pleaders.  \  Honord 
Rochfort. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  85 

Lye  ftill  my  toung  and  bufhes,  cal'd  my  cheekes, 

That  offter  thankes  in  words,  for  fuch  great  deeds.  280 

Roch.     Call  in  my  daughter :  ftill  I  haue  a  fuit  to  you.       Baiim. 
Would  you  requite  mee.  Exit. 

Rom.  With  his  Hfe,  affure  you. 

Roch.     Nay,  would  you  make  me  now  your  debter,  Sir. 
This  is  my  onely  child:  what  fhee  appeares.         Enter  Baum 
Your  Lordfhip  well  may  fee  her  education.         Beau.  285 

Followes  not  any :  for  hepTnind,  I  know  it 
To  be  far  fayrer  then  her  fhape,  and  hope 
It  will  continue  fo :  if  now  her  birth 
Be  not  too  meane  for  Charolois,  take  her 

This  virgin  by  the  hand,  and  call  her  wife,  290 

Indowd  with  all  my  fortunes :  bleffe  me  fo. 
Requite  mee  thus,  and  make  mee  happier, 
In  ioyning  my  poore  empty  name  to  yours. 
Then  if  my  ftate  were  multiplied  ten  fold. 

Char.     Is  this  the  payment,  Sir^  that  you  expect?  295 

Why,  you  participate  me  more  in  debt. 
That  nothing  but  my  life  can  euer  pay. 
This  beautie  being  your  daughter,  in  which  yours 
I  muft  conceiue  neceffitie  of  her  vertue 

Without  all  dowry  is  a  Princes  ayme,  300 

Then,  as  fhee  is,  for  poore  and  worthleffe  I, 
How  much  too  worthy !     Waken  me,  Romont, 
That  I  may  know  I  dream't  and  find  this  vanifht 

Rom.     Sure,  I  fleepe  not. 

Roch.  Your  fentence  life  or  death. 

Char.     Faire  Beaumelle,  can  you  loue  me? 

279    bufhes,  cal'd — blushes,  scald  (C,  G.,  S. — blushes  scald  (M. 

281,  end    .    — ,   (G.,  S. 

282,  before  affure    — C.,  M.,  &  G.  insert  /. 

284  s,  d.  placed  by  G.  &  S.  before  instead  of  after  line. 
285,  after  fee    —:  (M.,  f. 

285  her   education, — her   education,   Beaumelle    (C;    &   for   education 
Beaumelle  (M.,  these  editors  taking  Beau,  in  Q.  s.  d.  to  be  in  text! 

286  First  /  in  Followes  almost  invisible  in  Q. 
289    take  her — take  her,  take  (G. 

296    participate — precipitate  (C.,  f. 

301     / — me  (C,  f. 

303    know — its  n  is  broken  in  the  Q. 


86  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

Beau.  Yes,  my  Lord.     Enter  Nouall,  Ponta.  305 

Char.     You  need  not  queftion  me,  if  I  can  you.         Malotine, 
You  are  the  fay  reft  virgin  in  Digum,  Lilad.    Aymer.    All 

And  Rochfort  is  your  father.  falute. 

Nou.  What's  this  change? 

Rock.     You  met  my  wifhes,  Gentlemen. 

Rom.  What  make 

Thefe  dogs  in  doublets  heere? 

Beau.  A  Vifitation,  Sir.  310 

Char.     Then  thus,  Faire  Beaumelle,  I  write  my  faith 
Thus  feale  it  in  the  fight  of  Heauen  and  men. 
Your  fingers  tye  my  heart-ftrings  with  this  touch 
In  true-loue  knots,  which  nought  but  death  ihall  loofe. 
And  yet  thefe  eares  (an  Embleme  of  our  loues)  315 

Like  Criftall  riuers  indiuidually 
Flow  into  one  another,  make  one  fource, 
Which  neuer  man  diftinguifh,  leffe  deuide : 
Breath,  marry,  breath,  and  kiffes,  mingle  foules 

Two  hearts,  and  bodies,  heere  incorporate :  320 

And  though  with  Httle  wooing  I  haue  wonne 
My  future  life  fhall  be  a  wooing  tyme. 
And  euery  day,  new  as  the  bridall  one. 
Oh  Sir  I  groane  vnder  your  courtefies, 

More  then  my  fathers  bones  vnder  his  wrongs,  325 

You  Curtius-Vike,  haue  throwne  into  the  gulfe. 
Of  this  his  Countries  foule  ingratitude. 
Your  hfe  and  fortunes,  to  redeeme  their  fhames. 

Roch.     No  more,  my  glory,  come,  let's  in  and  haften 
This  celebration. 

Rom.  Mai.  Pont.  Bau. 

All  faire  bliffe  vpon  it.  330 

Exeunt  Roch.  Char.  Rom.  Bau.  Mai. 

308,  end    — G.  &  S.  s.  d. :  Aside. 

309    met — meet  (G.,  S. 

310,  Beau.  This  might  be  either  Beaumelle  or  Beaumont.  The  Q. 
generally  spells  the  latter  Baumont,  but  the  present  speech,  none  the  less, 
probably  belongs  to  him,  and  is  so  assigned  by  C.,  f. 

315  yet  thefe  eares — yet  these  tears  (C. — let  these  tears  (M.,  f.  The 
latter  emendation  is  correct. 

319    — M.,  f.  punctuate :  Breath  marry  breath,  and  kisses  mingle  souls. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  87 

Nou.     Miftreffe. 

Beau.  Oh  feruant,  vertue  ftrengthen  me. 

Thy  prefence  blowes  round  my  affections  vane: . 
You  will  vndoe  me,  if  you  fpeake  againe.  Exit  Beaum. 

Lilad.  Aym.     Heere  will  be  fport  for  you.     This  workes. 

Exeunt  Lilad.  Aym. 

Nou.  Peace,  peace, 

Pont.     One  word,  my  Lord  Nouall. 

Nou.  ^        What,  thou  wouldft  mony;  there.  335 

Pont.     No,  He  none.  He  not  be  bought  a  flaue, 
A  Pander,  or  a  Parafite,  for  all 
Your  fathers  worth,  though  you  haue  fau'd  my  life, 
Refcued  me  often  from  my  wants,  I  muft  not 

Winke  at  your  f ollyes :  that  will  ruine  you.  340 

You  know  my  blunt  way,  and  my  loue  to  truth : 
Forfake  the  purfuit  of  this  Ladies  honour, 
Now  you  doe  fee  her  made  another  mans, 
And  fuch  a  mans,  fo  good,  fo  popular. 

Or  you  will  plucke  a  thoufand  mifchiefes  on  you.  345 

The  benefits  you  haue  done  me,  are  not  loft. 
Nor  caft  away,  they  are  purs'd  heere  in  my  heart. 
But  let  me  pay  you,  fir,  a  fayrer  way 
Then  to  defend  your  vices,  or  to  footh  'em. 

Nou.     Ha,  ha,  ha,  what  are  my  courfes  vnto  thee?  350 

Good  Coufin  Pontalier,  meddle  with  that 
That  fhall  concerne  thyfelfe.  Exit  Nouall. 

Pont.  No  more  but  fcorne  ? 

Moue  on  then,  ftarres,  worke  your  pernicious  will. 
Onely  the  wife  rule,  and  preuent  your  ill.  Exit. 

Hoboyes. 
Here  a  pafjage  ouer  the  Stage,  while  the  Act  is  playing 
for  the  Marriage  of  Charalois  with 
Beaumelle,  &  c. 

330    Miftreffe — G.  &  S.  insert  s.  d. :  As  Beaumeile  is  going  out. 
336    1st.  He — /  will  (G.,  S. 
346    you  haue — you've  (C.,  M, 

349  'em — them  (G.,  S. 

350  G.  &  S.  omit  the  third  ha. 
After  354  G.  omits  s.  d.,  Hoboyes. 


Actus  tertius.      Scaena  prima. 

[A  Room  in  Charalois'  House] 

Enter  Nouall  Junior,  Bellapert. 

Nou.  lu.  r^  Lie  not  to  thefe  excufes :  thou  haft  bin 

i      Falfe  in  thy  promife,  and  when  I  haue  faid 
Vngratefull,  all  is  fpoke. 

Bell.  Good  my  Lord, 

But  heare  me  onely. 

Nou.  To  what  purpofe,  trifler? 

Can  anything  that  thou  canft  fay,  make  voyd  5 

The  marriage  ?  or  thofe  pleafures  but  a  dreame. 
Which  Charaloyes  (oh  Venus)  hath  enioyd? 

Bell.     I  yet  could  fay  that  you  receiue  aduantage, 
In  what  you  thinke  a  loffe,  would  you  vouchfafe  me 
That  you  were  neuer  in  the  way  till  now  ,  10 

With  fafety  to  arriue  at  your  defires. 
That  pleafure  makes  loue  to  you  vnattended 
By  danger  or  repentance? 

Nou.  That  I  could. 

But  apprehend  one  reafon  how  this  might  be, 
Hope  would  not  then  forfake  me. 

Bell.  The  enioying  15 

Of  what  you  moft  defire,  I  fay  th'  enioying 
Shall,  in  the  full  poffeffion  of  your  wifhes, 
Confirme  that  I  am  faithfull. 

Nou.  Giue  fome  rellifh 

How  this  may  appeare  poffible. 

Bell.  I  will 

3    fpoke — spoken  (G.,  S. 

3  and  4    Good  .  .  .  onely. — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

9,  end    — ;  (C,  f. 

13,  end     .    — omitted  by  M.,  f. 

ig^  end    — .   (C,  M.— ,  (G.,  S.     The  latter  emendation  seems  preferable. 

88 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  89 

Rellifh,  and  tafte,  and  make  the  banquet  eafie :  20 

You  fay  my  Ladie's  married.     I  confeffe  it, 

That  Charalois  hath  inioyed  her,  'tis  moft  true 

That  with  her,  hee's  already  Mafter  of 

The  beft  part  of  my  old  Lords  ftate.     Still  better, 

But  that  the  firft,  or  laft,  fhould  be  your  hindrance,  25 

I  vtterly  deny :  for  but  obferue  me : 

While  fhe  went  for,  and  was,  I  fweare,  a  Virgin, 

What  courtefie  could  fhe  Wtth  her  honour  giue 

Or  you  receiue  with  fafety — take  me  with  you. 

When  I  fay  courtefie,  doe  not  think  I  meane  30 

A  kiffe,  the  tying  of  her  fhoo  or  garter, 

An  houre  of  priuate  conference:  thofe  are  trifles. 

In  this  word  courtefy,  we  that  are  gamefters  point  at 

The  fport  direct,  where  not  alone  the  louer 

Brings  his  Artillery,  but  vfes  it.  35 

Which  word  expounded  to  you,  fuch  a  courtefie 

Doe  you  expect,  and  fudden. 

Nou.  But  he  tafted 

The  firft  fweetes,  Bellapert. 

Bell.  He  wrong'd  you  fhrewdly, 

He  toyl'd  to  climbe  vp  to  the  Phoenix  neft, 

And  in  his  prints  leaues  your  afcent  more  eafie.  40 

I  doe  not  know,  you  that  are  perfect  Crittiques 
In  womens  bookes,  may  talke  of  maydenheads. 

Nou.     But  for  her  marriage. 

Bell.  'Tis  a  faire  protection 

'Gainft  all  arrefts  of  feare,  or  fhame  for  euer. 

Such  as  are  faire,  and  yet  not  foolifh,  ftudy  45 

To  haue  one  at  thirteene ;  but  they  are  mad 
That  ftay  till  twenty.     Then  fir,  for  the  pleafure. 
To  fay  Adulterie's  fweeter,  that  is  ftale. 
This  onely  is  not  the  contentment  more, 

To  fay,  This  is  my  Cuckold,  then  my  Riuall.  5^ 

More  I  could  fay — but  briefly,  fhe  doates  on  you, 

22,  end    — ;  (C,  f. 

24    old — M.  omits. 

37  and  38    But  .  .  .  Bellapert. — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

49,  after  onely (C,  f. 


90 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY 


If  it  proue  otherwife,  fpare  not,  poyfon  me 

With  the  next  gold  you  giue  me.  Enter  Beaumely 

Beau.  Hows  this  feruant, 

Courting  my  woman  ? 

Bell.  As  an  entrance  to 

The  fauour  of  the  miftris :  you  are  together  55 

And  I  am  perfect  in  my  qu. 

Beau.  Stay  Bellapert. 

Bell.     In  this  I  muft  not  with  your  leaue  obey  you. 
Your  Taylor  and  your  Tire-woman  waite  without 
And  ftay  my  counfayle,  and  direction  for 

Your  next  dayes  dreffing.     I  haue  much  to  doe,  60 

Nor  will  your  Ladifhip  know,  time  is  precious, 
Continue  idle :  this  choife  Lord  will  finde 
So  fit  imployment  for  you.  Exit  Bellap. 

Beau.  I  fhall  grow  angry. 

Nou.     Not  fo,  you  haue  a  iewell  in  her.  Madam. 

Bell.     I  had  forgot  to  tell  your  Ladifhip  Enter  65 

The  clofet  is  priuate  and  your  couch  ready:  againe. 

And  if  you  pleafe  that  I  fhall  loofe  the  key, 
But  fay  fo,  and  tis  done.  Exit  Bellap. 

Baum.     You  come  to  chide  me,  feruant,  and  bring  with  you 
Sufficient  warrant,  you  will  fay  and  truely,  70 

My  father  found  too  much  obedience  in  me, 
By  being  won  too  foone :  yet  if  you  pleafe 
But  to  remember,  all  my  hopes  and  fortunes 
Had  reuerence  to  this  likening :  you  will  grant 

That  though  I  did  not  well  towards  you,  I  yet  75 

Did  wifely  for  my  felfe. 

Nou.  With  too  much  feruor 

I  haue  fo  long  lou'd  and  ftill  loue  you,  Miftreffe, 
To  efteeme  that  an  iniury  to  me 
Which  was  to  you  conuenient :  that  is  paft 

53  and  54    Hows  .  .  .  woman  f — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 
56,  after  qu     — C,  f.  insert  s.  d. :  Going. 
61     know — now  (C,  f.     A  correct  emendation. 

66,  after  couch    — G.  suggests  to  insert  there  in  brackets, — accepted  by  S. 
74    reuerence   to    this   likening — reference    to    his   liking    (M.,    f.     The 
emendation  appears  necessary. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  91 

My  helpe,  is  paft  my  cure.     You  yet  may,  Lady,  80 

In  recompence  of  all  my  dutious  feruice, 
(Prouided  that  your  will  anfwere  your  power) 
Become  my  Creditreffe. 

Beau.  I  vnderftand  you, 

And  for  affurance,  the  requeft  you  make 

Shall  not  be  long  vnanfwered.     Pray  you  fit,  85 

And  by  what  you  fhall  heare,  you'l  eafily  finde, 
My  paffions  are  much  fitti^r  to  defire, 
Then  to  be  fued  to.  Enter  Romont  and  Florimell. 

Flor.  Sir,  tis  not  enuy 

At  the  ftart  my  fellow  has  got  of  me  in 

My  Ladies  good  opinion,  thats  the  motiue  90 

Of  this  difcouery ;  but  due  payment 
Of  what  I  owe  her  Honour. 

Rom.  So   I   conceiue  it. 

Flo.     I  haue  obferued  too  much,  nor  fhall  my  filence 
Preuent  the  remedy — yonder  they  are, 

I  dare  not  bee  feene  with  you.     You  may  doe  95 

What  you  thinke  fit,  which  wil  be,  I  prefume. 
The  office  of  a  faithfull  and  tryed  friend 
To  my  young  Lord.  Exit  Flori. 

Rom.  This  is  no  vifion  :  ha  ! 

Nou.     With  the  next  opportunity. 

Beau.  By  this  kiffe, 

And  this,  and  this. 

Nou.  That  you  would  euer  fweare  thus.  100 

Rom.     If  I  feeme  rude,  your  pardon,  Lady ;  yours 
I  do  not  afke :  come,  do  not  dare  to  fhew  mee 
A  face  of  anger,  or  the  leaft  diflike. 
Put  on,  and  suddaily  a  milder  looke, 
I  fhall  grow  rough  elfe. 

88,  after  to    — G.  inserts  s.  d. :  They  court. 

88  Enter  Romont  and  Florimell — Enter  Romont  and  Florimell  behind 
(G.,  S 

88    tis— it  is  (G.,  S. 

91     but  due — but  the  due  (G.,  S. 

99,  after  opportunity    .    — f   (G.,   S. 

99  and  100  The  three  speeches  composing  these  two  lines  are  printed 
in  Q.  severally  in  three  lines. 

loi,  after  Rom.    — G.  &  S.  insert  s.  d. :  Comes  forward. 


92  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

Nou.  What  haue  I  done,  Sir,  105 

To  draw  this  harfh  vnfauory  language  from  you  ? 

Rom.     Done,  Popinjay  ?  why,  doft  thou  thinke  that  if 
I  ere  had  dreamt  that  thou  hadft  done  me  wrong, 
Thou  fhouldeft  outhue  it? 

Beau.  This  is  fomething  more 

Then  my  Lords  friendfhip  giues  commiffion  for.  no 

Nou.     Your  prefence  and  the  place,  makes  him  prefume 
Vpon  my  patience. 

Rom.  As  if  thou  ere  wer't  angry 

But  with  thy  Taylor,  and  yet  that  poore  fhred 
Can  bring  more  to  the  making  vp  of  a  man. 

Then  can  be  hop'd  from  thee:  thou  art  his  creature,  115 

And  did  hee  not  each  morning  new  create  [thee] 
Thou  wouldft  ftinke  and  be  forgotten.     He  not  change 
On  fyllable  more  with  thee,  vntill  thou  bring 
Some  teftimony  vnder  good  mens  hands. 

Thou  art  a  Chriftian.     I  fuspect  thee  ftrongly,  120 

And  wilbe  fatisfied :  till  which  time,  keepe  from  me. 
The  entertaiment  of  your  vifitation 
Has  made  what  I  intended  on  a  bufineffe. 

Nou.     So  wee  fhall  meete — Madam. 

Rom.  Vfe  that  legge  again, 

And  He  cut  off  the  other. 

Nou.  Very  good.  Exit  Nouall.         125 

Rom.     What  a  perfume  the  Mufke-cat  leaues  behind  him ! 
Do  you  admit  him  for  a  property, 
To  faue  you  charges.  Lady. 

Beau.  Tis  not  vfeleffe, 

Now  you  are  to  fucceed  him. 

Rom.  So  I  refpect  you, 

III     makes — make  (G.,  S. 

116  [thee] — so  all  later  editors.     The  word  in  the  Q.  is  illegible, — pos- 
sibly yee. 

117  Thou  wouldft — Thou'dst  (C,  f. 

123  on — i.  e.,  one;  c.  f.  line  118.    But  C.  keeps  on. 

124  and  125     Vfe  .  .  .  other. — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

127    for— as   (M.  in  Corrigenda,  vol.  4,  p.  379,  where  are  supplied  11. 
126-130,  which  are  omitted  in  his  text. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  93 

Not  for  your  felfe,  but  in  remembrance  of,  130 

Who  is  your  father,  and  whofe  wife  you  now  are, 
That  I  choofe  rather  not  to  vnderftand 
Your  nafty  fcoffe  then, — 

Beau.  What,  you  will  not  beate  mee, 

If  I  expound  it  to  you.     Heer's  a  Tyrant 
Spares  neyther  man  nor  woman. 

Rom.  My  intents  135 

Madam,  deferue  not  this>-nor  do  I  ftay 
To  be  the  whetftone  of  your  wit :  preferue  it 
To  fpend  on  fuch,  as  know  how  to  admire 
Such  coloured  ftuffe.     In  me  there  is  now  fpeaks  to  you 
As  true  a  friend  and  feruant  to  your  Honour,  140 

And  one  that  will  with  as  much  hazzard  guard  it, 
As  euer  man  did  goodneffe. — But  then  Lady, 
You  muft  endeauour  not  alone  to  bee. 
But  to  appeare  worthy  fuch  loue  and  feruice. 

Beau.     To  what  tends  this? 

Rom.  Why,  to  this  purpofe,  Lady,  145 

I  do  defire  you  fhould  proue  fuch  a  wife 
To  Charaloys  (and  fuch  a  one  hee  merits) 
As  Caefar,  did  hee  Hue,  could  not  except  at. 
Not  onely  innocent  from  crime,  but  free 
From  all  taynt  and  fufpition. 

Beau.  They  are  bafe  iSO> 

That  iudge  me  otherwife. 

Rom.  But  yet  bee  carefull. 

Djetraction's  a  bold  monfter,  and  feares  not 
To  wound  the  fame  of  Princes,  if  it  find 
But  any  blemifh  in  their  Hues  to  worke  on. 

But  He  bee  plainer  with  you:  had  the  people  155 

Bin  learnd  to  fpeake,  but  what  euen  now  I  saw, 
Their  malice  out  of  that  would  raife  an  engine 
To  ouerthrow  your  honor.     In  my  fight 
(With  yonder  pointed  foole  I  frighted  from  you) 

139    is — G.  &  S.  omit.    See  Notes. 

150  and  151     They  .  .  .  otherwife. — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

159    pointed — painted  (C,  f.    See  Notes. 


94  THE   FATAL   DOWRY 

You  vs'd  familiarity  beyond  i6o 

A  modeft  entertaynment :  you  embrac'd  him 

With  too  much  ardor  for  a  ftranger,  and 

Met  him  with  kiffes  neyther  chafte  nor  comely : 

But  learne  you  to  forget  him,  as  I  will 

Your  bounties  to  him,  you  will  find  it  fafer  165 

Rather  to  be  vncourtly,  then  immodeft. 

Beau.     This  prety  rag  about  your  necke  fhews  well, 
And  being  coorfe  and  little  worth,  it  fpeakes  you. 
As  terrible  as  thrifty. 

Rom.  Madam. 

Beau.  Yes. 

And  this  ftrong  belt  in  which  you  hang  your  honor  170 

Will  out-laft  twenty  fcarfs. 

Rom.  What  meane  you,  Lady? 

Beau.    And  all  elfe  about  you  Cap  a  pe 
.'So  vniforme  in  fpite  of  handfomneffe, 
Shews  fuch  a  bold  contempt  of  comelineffe. 

That  tis  not  ftrange  your  Laundreffe  in  the  League,  175 

Grew  mad  with  loue  of  you. 

Rom.  Is  my  free  counfayle 

Anfwerd  with  this  ridiculous  fcorne  ? 

Beau.  Thefe  obiects 

Stole  very  much  of  my  attention  from  me, 
Yet  fomething  I  remember,  to  fpeake  truth, 

Deceyued  grauely,  but  to  little  purpofe,  180 

That  almoft  would  haue  made  me  fweare,  fome  Curate 
Had  ftolne  into  the  perfon  of  Romont, 
And  in  the  praife  of  goodwife  honefty, 
Had  read  an  homely. 

Rom,  By  thy  hand. 

Beau.  And  fword, 

1  will  make  vp  your  oath,  twill  want  weight  elfe.  185 

You  are  angry  with  me,  and  poore  I  laugh  at  it. 

172,  after  And    — G.  suggests  to  insert  then  in  brackets ;  accepted  by  S. 
175    League — Leaguer  (M.,  f. 
180    Deceyued — Delivered  (C,  f. 

184  thy — this  (C,  f.    See  Notes. 

185  twill — it  will  (G.,  S. 

186  You  are— You're  (C.,  M. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  95 

Do  you  come  from  the  Campe,  which  affords  onely 

The  conuerfation  of  caft  fuburbe  whores, 

To  fet  downe  to  a  Lady  of  my  ranke, 

Lymits  of  entertainment?  190 

Rom.     Sure  a  Legion  has  poffeft  this  woman. 

Beau.     One  ftampe  more  would  do  well :  yet  I  defire  not 
You  fhould  grow  horne-mad,  till  you  haue  a  wife. 
You  are  come  to  warme  meate,  and  perhaps  cleane  linnen : 
Feed,  weare  it,  and  bee  tl^nkefull.     For  me,  know,  195 

That  though  a  thoufand  watches  were  fet  on  mee. 
And  you  the  Mafter-fpy,  I  yet  would  vfe, 
The  liberty  that  beft  likes  mee.     I  will  reuell, 
Feaft,  kiffe,  imbreace,  perhaps  grant  larger  f auours : 
Yet  fuch  as  Hue  vpon  my  meanes,  fhall  know  2(X> 

They  muft  not  murmur  at  it.     If  my  Lord 
Bee  now  growne  yellow,  and  has  chofe  out  you 
To  ferue  his  lealouzy  that  way,  tell  him  this, 
You  haue  fomething  to  informe  him:  Exit  Beau. 

Rom.  And  I  will. 

Beleeue  it  wicked  one  I  will.     Heare,  Heauen,  205 

But  hearing  pardon  mee :  if  thefe  f  ruts  grow 
Vpon  the  tree  of  marriage,  let  me  fhun  it. 
As  a  forbidden  fweete.     An  heyre  and  rich, 
Young,  beautifull,  yet  adde  to  this  a  wife. 

And  I  will  rather  choofe  a  Spittle  finner  210 

Carted  an  age  before,  though  three  parts  rotten, 
And  take  it  for  a  bleffing,  rather  then 
Be  fettered  to  the  hellifh  flauery 
Of  fuch  an  impudence. 

Enter  Baumont  with  writings. 

Bau.  Collonell,  good  fortune 

To  meet  you  thus :  you  looke  fad,  but  He  tell  you  215 

Something  that  fhall  remoue  it.     Oh  how  happy 
Is  my  Lord  Charaloys  in  his  f aire  bride ! 

Rom.     A  happy  man  indeede ! — pray  you  in  what  ? 

Bau.    I  dare  fweare,  you  would  thinke  fo  good  a  Lady, 
A  dower  fufficient. 

203  that— this  (G.,  S. 

204  You  haue — You've  (C,  M. 


96  THE   FATAL   DOWRY 

Rom.  No  doubt.     But  on.  220 

Bail.     So  f aire,  fo  chafte,  fo  vertuous :  fo  indeed 
All  that  is  excellent. 

Ro7n.  Women  haue  no  cunning 

To  gull  the  world. 

Bau.  Yet  to  all  thefe,  my  Lord 

Her  father  giues  the  full  addition  of 

All  he  does  now  poffeffe  in  Burgundy:  225 

Thefe  writings  to  confirme  it,  are  new  feal'd 
And  I  moft  fortunate  to  prefent  him  with  them, 
I  muft  goe  feeke  him  out,  can  you  direct  mee  ? 

Rom.     You'l  finde  him  breaking  a  young  horfe. 

Bau.  I  thanke  you.     E.vit  Baumont. 

Rom.     I  muft  do  fomething  worthy  Charaloys  friendfhip.  230 

If  fhe  were  well  inclin'd  to  keepe  her  fo, 
Deferu'd  not  thankes :  and  yet  to  ftay  a  woman 
Spur'd  headlong  by  hot  luft,  to  her  owne  ruine. 
Is  harder  then  to  prop  a  falling  towre 
With  a  deceiuing  reed.  Enter  Rochfort. 

Roch.  Some  one  feeke  for  me,  235 

As  foone  as  he  returnes. 

Rom.  Her  father.'  ha? 

How  if  I  breake  this  to  him?  fure  it  cannot 
Meete  with  an  ill  conftruction.     His  wifedome 
Made  powerfuU  by  the  authority  of  a  father. 

Will  warrant  and  giue  priuiledge  to  his  counfailes.  240 

It  fhall  be  fo — my  Lord. 

Roch.  Your  friend  Romont: 

Would  you  ought  with  me  ? 

Rom.  I  ftand  fo  engag'd 

To  your  fo  many  fauours,  that  I  hold  it 
A  breach  in  thankfulneffe,  fhould  I  not  difcouer, 

221  jo  indeed — C.  &  M.  omit  so;  so — indeed,  (G.,  S. — The  Q.  reading 
is  preferable. 

222  and  223     Women  .  .  .  world. — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 
22s,  after  world.    — G.  &  S.  s,  d. :  Aside. 

231,  after  inclin'd    — ,  (C.,  f. 

235    s.  d. — in  G.  &  S. :  Enter  Rochfort,  speaking  to  a  servant  within. 

241  and  242     Your  .  .  .  mef — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY  97 

Though  with  fome  imputation  to  my  felfe,  245 

All  doubts  that  may  concerne  you. 

Roch.  The  performance 

Will  make  this  proteftation  worth  my  thanks. 

Rom.     Then  with  your  patience  lend  me  your  attention 
For  what  I  muft  deliuer,  whifpered  onely 
You  will  with  too  much  griefe  receiue. 
Enter  Beaumelle,  Bellapert. 

Beau.  i-  See  wench!  250 

Vpon  my  life  as  I  forefpake,  hee's  now 
Preferring  his  complaint :  but  be  thou  perfect, 
And  we  will  fit  him. 

Bell.  Feare  not  mee,  pox  on  him : 

A  Captaine  turne  Informer  against  kiffing? 

Would  he  were  hang'd  vp  in  his  rufty  Armour :  255 

But  if  our  frefh  wits  cannot  turne  the  plots 
Of  fuch  a  mouldy  murrion  on  it  felfe; 
Rich  cloathes,  choyfe  faire,  and  a  true  friend  at  a  call, 
With  all  the  pleafures  the  night  yeelds,  f orfake  vs. 

Roch.     This  in  my  daughter?  doe  not  wrong  her. 

Bell.  Now.  260 

Begin.     The  games  afoot,  and  wee  in  diftance. 

Beau.     Tis  thy  fault,  foolifh  girle,  pinne  on  my  vaile, 
I  will  not  weare  thofe  iewels.     Am  I  not 
Already  matcht  beyond  my  hopes?  yet  ftill 

You  prune  and  fet  me  forth,  as  if  I  were  265 

Againe  to  pleafe  a  fuyter. 

Bell.  Tis  the  courfe 

That  our  great  Ladies  take. 

Rom.  A  weake  excufe. 

Beau.     Thofe  that  are  better  feene,  in  what  concernes 
A  Ladies  honour  and  faire  fame,  condemne  it. 

250    s.  d. — in  G.  &  S. :  Enter  Beaumelle  and  Bellapert,  behind. 

254    turne — turn'd  (M. 

259,  end     .    — ?  (S.,  probably  misprint  for  / 

260    This  in  my  daughter f — S.  reads  :  This  is  my  daughter! 

260  and  261.     Lines  in  Q. :  This  .  .  .  her.  \  Now  begin.  \  The  .  .  .  diftance. 

262    Before  Beaumelle's  speech  G.  &  S.  insert  s.  d. :  Comes  forward. 

267  Rom.  A  weak  excufe. — G.  &  S.  assign  to  Beau,  with  the  lines 
which  follow.  The  change  is  without  warrant  and  makes  no  improvement 
on  Q  reading. 


98  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

You  waite  well,  in  your  abfence,  my  Lords  friend  270 

The  vnderftanding,  graue  and  wife  Romont. 

Rom.     Muft  I  be  ftill  her  fport  ? 

Beau.  Reproue  me  for  it. 

And  he  has  traueld  to  bring  home  a  iudgement 
Not  to  be  contradicted.     You  will  fay 

My  father,  that  owes  more  to  yeeres  then  he,  275 

Has  brought  me  vp  to  mufique,  language,  Courtfhip, 
And  I  muft  vfe  them.     True,  but  not  t'offend, 
Or  render  me  fufpected. 

Roch.  Does  your  fine  ftory 

Begin  from  this? 

Beau.  I  thought  a  parting  kiffe 

From  young  Nouall,  would  haue  difpleafd  no  more  280 

Then  heretofore  it  hath  done ;  but  I  finde 
I  muft  reftrayne  fuch  fauours  now ;  looke  therefore 
As  you  are  carefull  to  continue  mine, 
That  I  no  more  be  vifited.     He  endure 

The  ftricteft  courfe  of  life  that  iealoufie  285 

Can  thinke  fecure  enough,  ere  my  behauiour 
Shall  call  my  fame  in  queftion. 

Rom.  Ten  diffemblers 

Are  in  this  fubtile  deuill.     You  beleeue  this  ? 

Roch.     So  farre  that  if  you  trouble  me  againe 
With  a  report  like  this,  I  fhall  not  onely  290 

ludge  you  malicious  in  your  difpofition. 
But  ftudy  to  repent  what  I  haue  done 
To  fuch  a  nature. 

Rom..  Why,  'tis  exceeding  well. 

Roch.     And  for  you,  daughter,  ofif  with  this,  off  with  it : 
I  haue  that  confidence  in  your  goodneffe,  I,  295 

That  I  will  not  confent  to  haue  you  Hue 
Like  to  a  Reclufe  in  a  cloyfter :  goe 
Call  in  the  gallants,  let  them  make  you  merry, 
Vfe  all  fit  liberty. 

Bell.  Bleffing  on  you. 

2:72,  after  jport    — C.  &  M.  insert  s.  d. :  Aside. 

272    Reproue — Reproved  (M.,  f. 

278  and  279    Does  .  .  .  this? — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 


THE    FATAL    DOWRY  99 

If  this  new  preacher  with  the  fword  and  feather  300 

Could  proue  his  doctrine  for  Canonicall, 

We  fhould  haue  a  fine  world.  Exit  Bellapert. 

Roch.  Sir,  if  you  pleafe 

To  beare  your  felfe  as  fits  a  Gentleman, 
The  houfe  is  at  your  feruice :  but  if  not. 

Though  you  feeke  company  elfe  where,  your  abfence  305 

Will  not  be  much  lamented —  Exit  Rochfort. 

Rom.  ^        If  this  be 

The  recompence  of  ftriuing  to  preferue 
A  wanton  gigglet  honeft,  very  fhortly 
'Twill  make  all  mankinde  Panders — Do  you  fmile, 
Good  Lady  Loofenes  ?  your  whole  fex  is  like  you,  310 

And  that  man's  mad  that  feekes  to  better  any : 
What  new  change  haue  you  next? 

Beau.  Oh,  feare  not  you,  fir, 

He  fhift  into  a  thoufand,  but  I  will 
Conuert  your  herefie. 

Rom.  What  herefie?     Speake. 

Beau.     Of  keeping  a  Lady  that  is  married,  315 

From  entertayning  feruants. —  Enter  Nouall  lu.  Mala-  ,  .  ^ 

O,  you  are  welcome,     tine,  Liladam,  Aymer, 
Vfe  any  meanes  to  vexe  him,  Pontalier. 

And  then  with  welcome  follow  me.  Exit  Beau  /  '  ^ 

Nou.  You  are  tyr'd  "^  t 

With  your  graue  exhortations,  CoUonell.  '       J 

Lilad.     How  is  it  ?    Fayth,  your  Lordfhip  may  doe  well,  320  ^ 

To  helpe  him  to  fome  Church-preferment :  'tis 
Now  the  fafhion,  for  men  of  all  conditions, 
How  euer  they  haue  liu'd ;  to  end  that  way. 

Aym.     That  face  would  doe  well  in  a  furpleffe. 

Rom.  Rogues, 

Be  filent — or — 

300  the — his  (S. 

316  you  are — you're  (C,  M. 

318  s.  d. — G.  &  S.  read :  Aside  to  them,  and  exit. 

Z22  Now  the  fafhion — The  fashion  now  (G.,  S. 

324  Rogues  in  Q.  begins  the  succeeding  line. 

328  f hall— should  (G.,  S. 


100  THE    FATAL    DOWRY 

Pont.  S'death  will  you  fuffer  this?  325 

Rom.     And  you,  the  mafter  Rogue,  the  coward  rafcall, 
I  fhall  be  with  you  fuddenly. 

Nou.  Pontallier, 

If  I  fhould  ftrike  him,  I  know  I  fhall  kill  him : 
And  therefore  I  would  haue  thee  beate  him,  for 
Hee's  good  for  nothing  elfe. 

Lilad.  His  backe  330 

Appeares  to  me,  as  it  would  tire  a  Beadle, 
And  then  he  has  a  knotted  brow,  would  bruife 
A  courtlike  hand  to  touch  it. 

Aym.  Hee  lookes  like 

A  Curryer  when  his  hides  grown  deare. 

Pont.  Take  heede 

He  curry  not  fome  of  you. 

Nou.  Gods  me,  hee's  angry.  335 

Rom.     I  breake  no  lefts,  but  I  can  breake  my  fword 
About  your  pates.  Enter  Charaloyes  and 

Lilad.  Heeres  more.  Baumont. 

Aym.  Come  let's  bee  gone. 

Wee  are  beleaguerd. 

Nou.     Looke  they  bring  vp  their  troups. 

Pont.  Will  you  fit  downe 

With  this  difgrace?    You  are  abus'd  moft  grofely.  340 

Lilad.     I  grant  you,  Sir,  we  are,  and  you  would  haue  vs 
Stay  and  be  more  abus'd. 

Nou.  My  Lord,  I  am  forry. 

Your  houfe  is  fo  inhofpitable,  we  muft  quit  it.  Exeunt. 

Cha.     Prethee  Romont,  what  caus'd  this  vprore?  Manent . 

Rom.  Nothing.     Char.  Rom. 

They  laugh'd  and  vf'd  their  fcuruy  wits  vpon  mee.  345 

Char.     Come,  tis  thy  lealous  nature :  but  I  wonder 
That  you  which  are  an  honeft  man  and  worthy. 
Should  f  ofter  this  fufpition :  no  man  laughes  ; 
No  one  can  whifper,  but  thou  apprehend'ft 

334    grown — grow  (G.,  S. 

334  and  335     Take  .  .  .  you. — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

335  Gods — Gads  (C,  M.,  G. 

339  and  340     Will  .  .  .  difgrace  F — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 
342    /  am — I'm  (C.,  f. 


THE    FATAL    DOWRY  101 

His  conference  and  his  fcorne  reflects  on  thee :  350 

For  my  part  they  fhould  fcoffe  their  thin  wits  out, 

So  I  not  heard  'em,  beate  me,  not  being  there. 

Leaue,  leaue  thefe  fits,  to  confcious  men,  to  fuch 

As  are  obnoxious,  to  thofe  fooHfh  things 

As  they  can  gibe  at. 

Rom.  Well,  Sir. 

Char.  Thou  art  know'n  355 

Valiant  without  detect,  rfght  defin'd 
Which  is  (as  fearing  to  doe  iniury. 
As  tender  to  endure  it)  not  a  brabbler, 
A  fwearer. 

Rom.     Pifh,  pifh,  what  needs  this  my  Lord? 
If  I  be  knowne  none  fuch,  how  vainly,  you  360 

Do  caft  away  good  counfaile  ?     I  haue  lou'd  you. 
And  yet  muft  freely  fpeake ;  fo  young  a  tutor, 
Fits  not  fo  old  a  Souldier  as  I  am. 
And  I  muft  tell  you,  t'was  in  your  behalf e 

I  grew  inraged  thus,  yet  had  rather  dye,  3^5 

Then  open  the  great  caufe  a  fyllable  further. 

Cha.     In  my  behalf e?  wherein  hsith  Charalois 
Vnfitly  fo  demean'd  himfelfe,  to  giue 
The  leaft  occafion  to  the  loofeft  tongue, 

To  throw  afperfions  on  him,  or  fo  weakely  37^ 

Protected  his  owne  honor,  as  it  fhould 
Need  a  defence  from  any  but  himfelfe? 
They  are  fools  that  iudge  me  by  my  outward  feeming, 
Why  fhould  my  gentleneffe  beget  abufe  ? 

The  Lion  is  not  angry  that  does  fleepe  375 

Nor  euery  man  a  Coward  that  can  weepe. 

350  reflects — reflect  (G.,  S. 

352  'em — them  (C,  f. 

352  beate — bait  (M. 

354  ,    — omitted  by  C,  f., — a  probably  correct  emendation. 

356  detect — defect  (C,  f., — a  correct  emendation. 

356  right — rightly  (M.,  f., — an  unnecessary  emendation  for  the  sense,  but 
probably  correct,  as  it  improves  the  metre. 

357  and  358    — the  (  )'s  are  omitted  by  M.,  f. 
S72    a — C.  &  M.  omit. 

373     They  are — They're  (C,  M. 


102  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

For  Gods  fake  fpeake  the  caufe. 

Rom.  Not  for  the  world. 

Oh  it  will  ftrike  difeafe  into  your  bones 
Beyond  the  cure  of  phyficke,  drinke  your  blood, 

Rob  you  of  all  your  reft,  contract  your  fight,  380 

Leaue  you  no  eyes  but  to  fee  mifery, 
And  of  your  owne,  nor  fpeach  but  to  wifh  thus 
Would  I  had  perifh'd  in  the  prifons  iawes : 
From  whence  I  was  redeem'd !  twill  weare  you  old, 
Before  you  haue  experience  in  that  Art,  385 

That  caufes  your  affliction. 

Cha.  Thou  doft  ftrike 

A  deathfull  coldneffe  to  my  hearts  high  heate. 
And  fhrinkft  my  liuer  like  the  Calenture. 
Declare  this  foe  of  mine,  and  lifes,  that  like 

A  man  I  may  encounter  and  fubdue  it  390 

It  fhall  not  haue  one  fuch  effect  in  mee, 
As  thou  denounceft:  with  a  Souldiers  arme. 
If  it  be  ftrength,  He  meet  it:  if  a  fault 
Belonging  to  my  mind,  He  cut  it  ofT 

With  mine  owne  reafon,  as  a  Scholler  fhould  395 

Speake,  though  it  make  mee  monftrous. 

Rom.  He  dye  firft. 

Farewell,  continue  merry,  and  high  Heauen 
Keepe  your  wife  chafte. 

Char.  Hump,  ftay  and  take  this  wolfe 

Out  of  my  breft,  that  thou  haft  lodg'd  there,  or 
For  euer  lofe  mee. 

Rom.  Lofe  not.  Sir,  your  felfe.  400 

And  I  will  venture — So  the  dore  is  faft.  Locke 

Now  noble  Charaloys,  collect  your  felfe,  the  dore. 

Summon  your  fpirits,  mufter  all  your  ftrength 
That  can  belong  to  man,  fift  paffion. 

From  euery  veine,  and  whatfoeuer  enfues,  *  405 

Vpbraid  not  me  heereafter,  as  the  caufe"  of 

395,  end    — .  (C,  f. 

396    He — I  will  (G. 

398    Hump — Hum  (C,  f. 

403    you — C,  f.  make  obvious  correction  to  your. 

405    whatfoeuer — whatfoe'er  (M.,  f. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  103 

lealoufy,  difcontent,  flaughter  and  ruine : 
Make  me  not  parent  to  finne :  you  will  know 
This  fecret  that  I  burne  with. 

Char.  Diuell  on't, 

What  fhould  it  be  ?    Romont,  I  heare  you  wifh  410 

My  wifes  continuance  of  Chaftity. 

Rom.     There  was  no  hurt  in  that. 

Char.  Why?  do  you  know 

A  likelyhood  or  poffibility  vnto  the  contrarie? 

Rom.     I  know  it  not,  but  doubt  it,  thefe  the  grounds 
The  feruant  of  your  wife  now  young  Nouall,  415 

The  fonne  vnto  your  fathers  Enemy 
(Which  aggrauates  my  prefumption  the  more) 
1  haue  been  warnd  of,  touching  her,  nay,  feene  them 
Tye  heart  to  heart,  one  in  anothers  armes, 

Multiplying  kiffes,  as  if  they  meant  420 

To  pofe  Arithmeticke,  or  whofe  eyes  would 
Bee  firft  burnt  out,  with  gazing  on  the  others. 

I  faw  their  mouthes  engender,  and  their  palmes  v 

Glew'd,  as  if  Loue  had  lockt  them,  their  words  flow 
And  melt  each  others,  like  two  circling  flames,  425 

Where  chaftity,  like  a  Phoenix  (me  thought)  burn'd, 
But  left  the  world  nor  afhes,  nor  an  heire. 
,  Why  ftand  you  filent  thus  ?  what  cold  dull  flegme, 
As  if  you  had  no  drop  of  choller  mixt 

In  your  whole  conftitution,  thus  preuailes,  430 

To  fix  you  now,  thus  ftupid  hearing  this  ? 

Cha.     You  did  not  fee  'em  on  my  Couch  within, 
Like  George  a  horfe-backe  on  her,  nor  a  bed? 

Rom.     Noe. 

Cha.  Ha,  ha. 

409,  after  with    .    — ?   (G.,   S. 

410  heare — G.  &  S.  read  heard.    The  final  e  is  blurred  in  Q.,  but  cer- 
tainly e,  not  d. 
412  and  413     Why  .  .  .  poffibility — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

416  u  in  your  inverted  in  Q. 

417  my — G.  &  S.  omit. 
419  Tye — tied  (G. 

432'  'em — him  (M.,  f.    See  Notes.  ,    - 


104  THE   FATAL   DOWRY 

Rom.  Laugh  yee?  eene  fo  did  your  wife, 

And  her  indulgent  father. 

Cha.  They  were  wife.  435 

Wouldft  ha  me  be  a  f oole  ? 

Rojn.  No,  but  a  man. 

Cha.     There  is  no  dramme  of  manhood  to  fufpect. 
On  fuch  thin  ayrie  circumftance  as  this 
Meere  complement  and  courtfhip.     Was  this  tale 

The  hydeous  monfter  which  you  fo  conceal'd  ?  440 

Away,  thou  curious  impertinent 
And  idle  fearcher  of  fuch  leane  nice  toyes. 
Goe,  thou  fedicious  fower  of  debate : 
Fly  to  fuch  matches,  where  the  bridegroome  doubts : 
He  holds  not  worth  enough  to  counteruaile  445 

The  vertue  and  the  beauty  of  his  wife. 
Thou  buzzing  drone  that  'bout  my  eares  doft  hum. 
To  ftrike  thy  rankling  fting  into  my  heart, 
Whofe  vemon,  time,  nor  medicine  could  affwage. 
Thus  doe  I  put  thee  off,  and  confident  450 

In  mine  owne  innocency,  and  defert. 
Dare  not  conceiue  her  fo  vnreafonable. 
To  put  Nouall  in  ballance  againft  me. 
An  vpftart  cran'd  vp  to  the  height  he  has. 

Hence  bufiebody,  thou'rt  no  friend  to  me,  455 

That  muft  be  kept  to  a  wiues  iniury, 

Rom.     Ift  poffible?  farewell,  fine,  honeft  man, 
Sweet  temper'd  Lord  adieu :  what  Apoplexy 
Hath  knit  fence  vp  ?     Is  this  Romonts  reward  ? 

Beare  witnes  the  great  fpirit  of  my  father,  460 

With  what  a  health  full  hope  I  adminifter 
This  potion  that  hath  wrought  fo  virulently, 
I  not  accufe  thy  wife  of  act,  but  would 
Preuent  her  Praecipuce^  to  thy  difhonour, 

434    yee— you  (C,  f. 
434    eene — even  (G.,  S. 
436.    ha — have  (M.,  f. 

460  my — thy  (C,  f. — The  emendation  is  probably  correct. 

461  /  adminifter — I  did  administer  (M.,  f.     The  Ms.  reading  may  have 
been:  adminifter' d. 

464     Praecipuce — precipice  (C,  f. 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY  105 

Which  now  thy  tardy  fluggifhneffe  will  admit.  465 

Would  I  had  feene  thee  grau'd  with  thy  great  Sire, 

Ere  Hue  to  haue  mens  marginall  fingers  point 

At  Charaloys,  as  a  lamented  ftory. 

An  Emperour  put  away  his  wife  for  touching 

Another  man,  but  thou  wouldft  haue  thine  tafted  470 

And  keepe  her  (I  thinke.)     Puffe.     I  am  a  fire 

To  warme  a  dead  man,  that  wafte  out  myfelfe. 

Bleed — what  a  plague,  a;i^engeance  i'ft  to  mee, 

If  you  will  be  a  Cuckold?     Heere  I  fhew 

A  fwords  point  to  thee,  this  fide  you  may  fhun,  475 

Or  that:  the  perrill,  if  you  will  runne  on, 

I  cannot  helpe  it. 

Cha.  Didft  thou  neuer  fee  me 

Angry,  Romontf 

Rom.  Yes,  and  purfue  a  foe 

Like  lightening 

Char.  Prethee  fee  me  fo  no  more. 

I  can  be  fo  againe.     Put  vp  thy  fword,  480 

And  take  thy  felfe  away,  left  I  draw  mine. 

Rom.     Come  fright  your  foes  with  this :  fir,  I  am  your  friend, 
And  dare  ftand  by  you  thus. 

Char.  Thou  art  not  my  friend, 

Or  being  fo,  thou  art  mad,  I  muft  not  buy 

Thy  f riendfhip  at  this  rate ;  had  I  iuft  cause,  485 

Thou  knowft  I  durft  purfue  fuch  iniury 
Through  fire,  ayre,  water,  earth,  nay,  were  they  all 
Shuffled  againe  to  Chaos,  but  ther's  none. 
Thy  fkill,  Romont,  confifts  in  camps,  not  courts. 

Farewell,  vnciuill  man,  let's  meet  no  more.  490 

Heere  our  long  web  of  friendfhip  I  vntwift. 
Shall  I  goe  whine,  walke  pale,  and  locke  my  wife 
For  nothing,  from  her  births  free  liberty. 
That  open'd  mine  to  me?  yes ;  if  I  doe 

467  Hue— lived  (G.,  S.    See  Notes. 

471  Puffe—Phoh  (C,  M.,  G. 

473  Bleed— Blood  (C,  M. 

482  this:  fir— this,  sir!  (C,  G.,  S.—this,  sirf  (M. 

483  Thou  art—Thou'rt  (C,  M. 

484  thou  art—thou'rt  (C,  M. 


106  THE    FATAL    DOWRY 

The  name  of  cuckold  then,  dog  me  with  fcorne.  495 

I  am  a  Frenchman,  no  Italian  borne.  Exit. 

Rom.     A  dull  Dutch  rather:  fall  and  coole  (my  blood) 
Boyle  not  in  zeal  of  thy  friends  hurt,  fo  high. 
That  is  fo  low,  and  cold  himfelfe  in't.     Woman, 

How  ftrong  art  thou,  how  eafily  beguild  ?  500 

How  thou  doft  racke  vs  by  the  very  homes  ? 
Now  wealth  I  fee  change  manners  and  the  man : 
Something  I  muft  doe  mine  owne  wrath  to  affwage, 
And  note  my  friendfhip  to  an  after-age.         Exit. 


Actus  quartus.      Scaena  prima. 

[A  Room  in  NovalVs  House'] 

Enter  Nouall  Iiinior,  as  newly  drefjed,  a  Taylor,  Barber, 
Perfumer,  Liladam,  Aymour,  Page. 

Nou.     I\  yi  End  this  a  little:  pox!  thou  haft  burnt  me.  oh  fie 

1 V 1  vpon't,  O  Lard,  hee  has  made  me  fmell  ( for 
all  the  world)  like  a  flaxe,  or  a  red  headed  womans  chamber: 
powder,  powder,  powder. 

Perf.     Oh  fweet  Lord !  Nouall  fits  in  a  chaire,  5 

Page.     That's  his  Perfumer.         Barber  orders  his  haire, 
Tayl.     Oh  deare  Lord,  Perfumer  giues  pozvder, 

Page.     That's  his  Taylor.  Taylor  fets  his  clothefe. 

Nou.     Monfieur  Liladam,  Aymour,  how  allow  you  the 
modell  of  thefe  clothes?  10 

Aym.     Admirably,  admirably,  oh  fweet  Lord !  affuredly 
it's  pity  the  wormes  fhould  eate  thee. 

Page.     Here's  a  fine  Cell ;  a  Lord,  a  Taylor,  a  Perfumer,  a 
Barber,  and  a  paire  of  Mounfieurs :  3  to  3,  as  Httle  will  in  the        ' 
one,  as  honefty  in  the  other.     S'foote  ile  into  the  country  a-  15 

gaine,  learne  to  fpeake  truth,  drinke  Ale,  and  conuerfe  with 
my  fathers  Tenants ;  here  I  heare  nothing  all  day,  but 
vpon  my  foule  as  I  am  a  Gentleman,  and  an  honeft 
man. 

Aym.     I  vow  and  afifirme,  your  Taylor  muft  needs  be  an  ex-  20 

pert  Geometrician,  he  has  the  Longitude,  Latitude,  Alti- 
tude, Profundity,  euery  Demenfion  of  your  body,  fo  ex- 

Enter  Nouall,  etc. — G.  &  S.  introduce  the  scene  with  the  following 
variant  s.  d.,  also  omitting  s.  d.  of  lines  5-8  of  Q. :  Noval  junior  discovered 
seated  before  a  looking-glass,  with  a  Barber  and  Perfumer  dressing  his 
hair,  while  a  Tailor  adjusts  a  new  suit  which  he  wears.  Liladam,  Aymer, 
and  a  Page  attending. 

13  Cell—See  Notes. 

14  will — wit  (C,  f.    The  emendation  is  probably  correct. 

19,  end  — G.  &  S.  insert  s.  d. :  Aside,  as  also  after  the  speeches  of  Page 
ending  lines,  25,  36,  40,  62,  66,  and  70. 

107 


108  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

quifitely,  here's  a  lace  layd  as  directly,  as  if  truth  were  a 
Taylor. 

Page.     That  were  a  miracle.  25 

Lila.     With  a  haire  breadth's  errour,  ther's  a  fhoulder 
piece  cut,  and  the  bafe  of  a  pickadille  in  puncto. 

Aym.     You  are  right,  Mounfieur  his  veftaments  fit :  as  if 
they  grew  vpon  him,  or  art  had  wrought  'em  on  the  fame 
loome,  as  nature  fram'd  his  Lordfhip  as  if  your  Taylor  were  30 

deepely  read  in  Aftrology,  and  had  taken  meafure  of  your 
honourable  body,  with  a  Jacobs  ftafife,  an  Ephimeri- 
des. 

Tayl.     I  am  bound  t'ee  Gentlemen. 

Page.     You  are  deceiu'd,  they'll  be  bound  to  you,  you  muft  35 

remember  to  truft  'em  none. 

Nou.     Nay,  fayth,  thou  art  a  reafonable  neat  Artificer,  giue 
the  diuell  his  due. 

Page.  I,  if  hee  would  but  cut  the  coate  according  to  the 
cloth  ftill.  40 

Nou.     I  now  want  onely  my  mifters  approbation,  who  is 
indeed,  the  moft  polite  punctuall  Queene  of  dreffing  in  all 
Burgundy.     Pah,  and  makes  all  other  young  Ladies  appeare, 
as  if  they  came  from  boord  laft  weeke  out  of  the  country, 
Is't  not  true,  Liladam  ?  45 

Lila.  True  my  Lord,  as  if  any  thing  your  Lordfhip  could 
fay,  could  be  othewrife  then  true. 

Nou.  Nay,  a  my  foule,  'tis  fo,  what  fouler  obiect  in  the 
world,  then  to  fee  a  young  faire,  handfome  beauty,  vnhand- 
fomely  dighted  and  incongruently  accoutred;  or  a  hopeful!  50 

Cheualier,  vnmethodically  appointed,  in  the  externall  orna- 
ments of  nature?     For  euen  as  the  Index  tels  vs  the  contents 
of  ftories,  and  directs  to  the  particular  Chapters,  euen  fo 
does  the  outward  habit  and  fuperficiall  order  of  garments 

26  haire  breadth's — hair's  breadth's  (C,  M.,  G. — hair's  breadth  (S. 

29  'em — them  (G.,  S. 

30,  3.itQr  Lordfhip    — ;   (C,  f. 

34  t'ee—t'ye  (C.,  f. 

36  'em — them  (G.,  S. 

39  I— Ay  (G.,  S. 

41  mifters — mistress's  (C.,  M. — mistress'  (G.,  S. 

48  a—0  (C,  M.—o'  (G.,  S. 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY  109 

(in  man  or  woman)  giue  vs  a  taft  of  the  fpirit,  and  demon-  55 

ftratiuely  poynt  (as  it  were  a  manuall  note  from  the  margin) 

all  the  internall  quality,  and  habiliment  of  the  foule,  and 

there  cannot  be  a  more  euident,  palpable,  groffe  manifefta- 

tion  of  poore  degenerate  dunghilly  blood,  and  breeding,  then 

rude,  vnpolifh'd,  difordered  and  flouenly  outfide.  60 

Page.     An  admirable !  lecture.     Oh  all  you  gallants,  that  hope 
to  be  faued  by  your  cloathes,  edify,  edify. 

Aym.     By  the  Lard,  fwerct  Lard,  thou  deferu'ft  a  penfion 
o'  the  State. 

Page.     O  th'  Taylors,  two  fuch  Lords  were  able  to  fpread  65 

Taylors  ore  the  face  of  a  whole  kingdome. 

Noil.     Pox  a  this  glaffe !  it  flatters,  I  could  find  in  my  heart 
to  breake  it. 

Page.     O  faue  the  glaffe  my  Lord,  and  breake  their  heads, 
they  are  the  greater  flatterers  I  affure  you.  70 

Aym.     Flatters,  detracts,  impayres,  yet  put  it  by. 
Left  thou  deare  Lord  (Narciffus-like)  fhould  doate 
Vpon  thyfelfe,  and  dye;  and  rob  the  world 
Of  natures  copy,  that  fhe  workes  forme  by. 

Lila.     Oh  that  I  were  the  Infanta  Queene  Of  Europe,  75 

Who  (but  thy  felfe  fweete  Lord)  fhouldft  marry  me. 

Noil.   -I  marry?  were  there  a  Queene  oth'  world,  not  I. 
Wedlocke?  no  padlocke,  horfelocke,  I  weare  fpurrs  He 

To  keepe  it  ofT  my  heeles ;  yet  my  Aymour,  capers. 

Like  a  free  wanton  iennet  i'th  meddows,  80 

I  looke  aboute,  and  neigh,  take  hedge  and  ditch, 
Feede  in  my  neighbours  paftures,  picke  my  choyce 
Of  all  their  faire-maind-mares :  but  married  once, 
A  man  is  ftak'd,  or  pown'd,  and  cannot  graze 

59,  after  then    — a  inserted  by  C,  f. 

66  a — the  (G. 

67  a—o  (G.,  S. 

71,  after  Flatters    ,    — /   (G.,  S. 

72  fhould — shouldst  (G.,  S. 

74  forme — form  (C.,  f. 

y6  fhouldft — should  (C.,  f.    See  Note  on  1.  72. 

77  oth'—o'  the  (G.,  S. 

80  i'th—in  the  (G.,  S. 

84  pown'd — pounded  (M. 


110  THE   FATAL   DOWRY 

Beyond  his  owne  hedge. 

Enter  Pont  alter,  and  Malotin. 

Pont.  1  haue  waited,  fir,  85 

Three  hours  to  fpeake  w'ee,  and  not  take  it  well. 
Such  magpies  are  admitted,  whilft  I  daunce 
Attendance. 

Lila.     Magpies?  what  d'ee  take  me  for? 

Pont.     A  long  thing  with  a  moft  vnpromifing  face. 

Aym.     I'll  ne're  afke  him  what  he  takes  me  for  ? 

Mai.  Doe  not,  fir,     90 

For  hee'l  goe  neere  to  tell  you. 

Pont.  Art  not  thou 

A  Barber  Surgeon? 

Barb.  Yes  fira  why. 

Pont.     My  Lord  is  forely  troubled  with  two  fcabs. 

Lila.     Aym.     Humph — 

Pont.     I  prethee  cure  him  of  'em. 

Nou.  Pifh:  no  more,  95 

Thy  gall  fure's  ouer  throwne ;  thefe  are  my  Councell, 
And  we  were  now  in  ferious  difcourfe. 

Pont.     Of  perfume  and  apparell,  can  you  rife 
And  fpend  5  houres  in  dreffing  talke,  with  thefe? 

Noil.     Thou  'idft  haue  me  be  a  dog :  vp,  ftretch  and  fhake,  100 

And  ready  for  all  day. 

Pont.  Sir,  would  you  be 

More  curious  in  preferuing  of  your  honour. 
Trim,  'twere  more  manly.     I  am  come  to  wake 
Your  reputation,  from  this  lethargy 
You  let  it  fleep  in,  to  perfwade,  importune,  105 

86  w'ee — with  you  (C,  M. — wi'  ye  (G.,  S. 

86  not  take  it  well — take  it  not  well  (C,  M. 

88  d'ee— d'ye  (C,  f. 

90  ne're — never  (M.,  f. 

91  and  92    Art  .  .  .  Surgeon  f — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

94  Humph — Hum  (G.,  S. 

95  'em — them  (G.,  S. 

96  ouer  throwne — overflown  (M.,  f.    See  Notes. 
100    Thou'  idft— Thou' Idst  (C.,  f. 

102,  end    .    —omitted  by  C.,  f. 

103    G.  makes  Trim  last  word  of  line  102,  and  lengthens  *twere  to  It 
were. 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY  HI 

Nay,  to  prouoke  you,  fir,  to  call  to  account 

This  Collonell  Romont,  for  the  foule  wrong 

Which  like  a  burthen,  he  hath  layd  on  you. 

And  like  a  drunken  porter,  you  fleepe  vnder. 

'Tis  all  the  towne  talkes,  and  beleeue,  fir,  i  lo 

If  your  tough  fenfe  perfift  thus,  you  are  vndone, 

Vtterly  loft,  you  will  be  fcornd  and  baffled 

By  euery  Lacquay ;  feafon  now  your  youth. 

With  one  braue  thing,  and' it  fhall  keep  the  odour 

Euen  to  your  death,  beyond,  and  on  your  Tombe,  115 

Sent  like  fweet  oyles  and  Frankincenfe ;  fir,  this  life 

Which  once  you  fau'd,  I  ne're  fince  counted  mine, 

I  borrow'd  it  of  you ;  and  now  will  pay  it ; 

I  tender  you  the  feruice  of  my  fword 

To  beare  your  challenge,  if  you'll  write,  your  fate :  12a 

He  make  mine  owne :  what  ere  betide  you,  I 

That  haue  liu'd  by  you,  by  your  fide  will  dye. 

Nou.     Ha,  ha,  would'ft  ha'  me  challenge  poore  Romont? 
Fight  with  clofe  breeches,  thou  mayft  think  I  dare  not. 
Doe  not  miftake  me  (cooze)  I  am  very  valiant,  125 

But  valour  fhall  not  make  me  fuch  an  Affe. 
What  vfe  is  there  of  valour  (now  a  dayes?) 
'Tis  fure,  or  to  be  kill'd,  or  to  be  hang'd. 
Fight  thou  as  thy  minde  moues  thee,  'tis  thy  trade. 
Thou  haft  nothing  elfe  to  doe ;  fight  with  Romont?  130 

No  i'le  not  fight  vnder  a  Lord. 

Pont.  Farewell,  fir, 

I  pitty  you. 

Such  louing  Lords  walke  their  dead  honours  graues, 
For  no  companions  fit,  but  fooles  and  knaues. 
Come  Malotin.  Exeunt  Pont.  Mai. 

Enter  Romont. 

no  towne  talkes — Town-Talk  (C,  M. 

no,  after  beleeue — G.  &  S.  insert  it. 

Ill  you  are — you're  C,  M. 

116  Sent — i.  e.  Scent;  so  all  later  editors. 

123  ha' — have  (G.,  S. 

125  /  am — I'm  (C,  M. 

131  and  132    Farewell  .  .  .  you. — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

133  louing — living   (G.,  S. 


112  THE   FATAL   DOWRY 

Lila.  'Sfoot,  Colbran,  the  low  gyant.  135 

Aym.     He  has  brought  a  battaile  in  his  face,  let's  goe. 

Page.     Colbran  d'ee  call  him?  hee'l  make  fome  of  you  fmoake, 
I  beleeue. 

Rom.     By  your  leaue,  firs. 

Aym.  Are  you  a  Confort? 

Rom.  D'ee  take  mee 

For  a  fidler  ?  ya're  deceiu'd :  Looke.    He  pay  you.         Kickes  'em. 

Page.     It  feemes  he  knows  you  one,  he  bumfiddles  you  fo.  140 

Lila.     Was  there  euer  fo  bafe  a  fellow? 

Aym.    A  rafcall? 

Lila.     A  moft  vnciuill  Groome? 

Aym.     Offer  to  kicke  a  Gentleman,  in  a  Noblemans  cham- 
ber?   A  pox  of  your  manners.  145 

Lila.     Let  him  alone,  let  him  alone,  thou  fhalt  lofe  thy 
arme,  fellow :  if  we  ftirre  againft  thee,  hang  vs. 

Page.     S'foote,  I  thinke  they  haue  the  better  on  him, 
though  they  be  kickd,  they  talke  fo. 

Lila.     Let's  leaue  the  mad  Ape.  150 

Noti.     Gentlemen. 

Lilad.     Nay,  my  Lord,  we  will  not  offer  to  difhonour  you 
fo  much  as  to  ftay  by  you,  fince  hee's  alone. 

Noit.     Harke  you. 

Aym.     We  doubt  the  caufe,  and  will  not  difparage  you,  fo  155 

much  as  to  take  your  Lordfhips  quarrel  in  hand.     Plague  on 
him,  how  he  has  crumpled  our  bands. 

Page.     He  eene  away  with  'em,  for  this  fouldier  beates 
man,  woman,  and  child.  Exeunt.  Manent  Nou.  Rom. 

Nou.     What  meane  you,  fir?     My  people. 

Rom.  Your  boye's  gone,        Lockes  the  doore.     160 

And  doore's  lockt,  yet  for  no  hurt  to  you, 

137  d'ee — d'ye  (C,  f. 

138  D'ee— D'ye  (C,  U.—Do  you  (G.,  S. 

139  In  Q.,  For  is  last  word  of  line  138. 
139  ya're — you're  (G.,  S. 

145     of—o'  (C.,  f. 
147    arme — aim  (M.,  f. 
150,  end    — G.  &  S.  insert  s.  d. :  Going. 
158    'em — them   (G.,  S. 
'  161     And  doore's — And  your  door's  (G,  S. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  113 

But  priuacy :  call  vp  your  blood  againe,  fir, 

Be  not  affraid,  I  do  befeach  you,  fir, 

(And  therefore  come)  without,  more  circumftance 

Tell  me  how  farre  the  paffages  haue  gone  165 

'Twixt  you  and  your  faire  Miftreffe  Beaumelle, 

Tell  me  the  truth,  and  by  my  hope  of  Heauen 

It  neuer  fhall  goe  further. 

Nou.  Tell  you  why  fir? 

Are  you  my  confeffor?    ^ 

Rom.     I  will  be  your  confounder,  if  you  doe  not.     Drawes  a       170 
Stirre  not,  nor  fpend  your  voyce.  pocket  dag. 

Nou.  What  will  you  doe? 

Rom.     Nothing  but  lyne  your  brayne-pan,  fir,  with  lead, 
If  you  not  fatisfie  me  fuddenly, 
I  am  defperate  of  my  life,  and  command  yours. 

Nou.     Hold,  hold,  ile  fpeake.     I  vow  to  heauen  and  you,  175 

Shee's  yet  vntouch't,  more  then  her  face  and  hands : 
I  cannot  call  her  innocent;  for  I  yeeld 
On  my  follicitous  wrongs  fhe  confented 
Where  time  and  place  met  oportunity 
To  grant  me  all  requefts. 

Rom.  But  may  I  build  180 

On  this  affurance? 

Nou.  As  vpon  your  fayth. 

Rom.     Write  this,  fir,  nay  you  muft.  Drawes  Inkehorne 

Nou.  Pox  of  this  Gunne.         and  paper. 

Rom.     Withall,  fir,  you  muft  fweare,  and  put  your  oath 
Vnder  your  hand,  (fhake  not)  ne're  to  frequent 

This  Ladies  company,  nor  euer  fend  185 

Token,  or  meffage,  or  letter,  to  incline 
This  (too  much  prone  already)  yeelding  Lady. 

Nou.     'Tis  done,  fir. 

162-164  —printed  as  two  lines  in  Q. :  But  .  .  .  do  \  Befeach  .  .  .  circum- 
ftance. 

163    — this  line  is  omitted  in  M. 

168  Tell  you  why  fir— Tell  you?  why  sir?  (C,  U.—Tell  you!  why, 
sir,  G.,  S. 

171,  s.  d.     dag. — dagger  (C,  M. 

174    /  am — I'm  (C,  M. 

178    wrongs — wooing  (M.,  f.     Perhaps  the  Ms.  reading  was  wooings. 

180  and  181     But  .  .  .  affurance f — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 


114  THE   FATAL   DOWRY 

Rom.  Let  me  fee,  this  firft  is  right, 

And  heere  you  wifh  a  fudden  death  may  light 

Vpon  your  body,  and  hell  take  your  foule,  190 

If  euer  more  you  fee  her,  but  by  chance, 
Much  leffe  allure.     Now,  my  Lord,  your  hand. 

Nou.     My  hand  to  this  ? 

Rom.  Your  heart  elfe  I  affure  you. 

Nou.     Nay,  there  'tis. 

Rom.  So  keepe  this  laft  article 

Of  your  fayth  giuen,  and  ftead  of  threatnings,  fir,  195 

The  feruice  of  my  fword  and  life  is  yours : 
But  not  a  word  of  it,  'tis  Fairies  treafure ; 
Which  but  reueal'd,  brings  on  the  blabbers,  ruine. 
Vfe  your  youth  better,  and  this  excellent  forme 
Heauen  hath  beftowed  vpon  you.    So  good  morrow  to  your  Lordfhip.  200 

Nou.     Good  diuell  to  your  roguefhip.     No  man's  fafe : 
He  haue  a  Cannon  planted  in  my  chamber.  Exit. 

Againft  fuch  roaring  roagues. 
Enter  Bellapert. 

Bell.  My  Lord  away 

The  Coach  ftayes :  now  haue  your  wifh,  and  iudge, 
If  I  haue  been  forgetfull. 

Nou.  Ha? 

Bell.  D'ee  ftand  205 

Humming  and  hawing  now?  Exit. 

Nou.  Sweet  wench,  I  come. 

Hence  feare, 

I  fwore,  that's  all  one,  my  next  oath  'ile  keepe 
That  I  did  meane  to  breake,  and  then  'tis  quit. 

188,  after  fee    ,    —omitted  by  G.  &  S. 

189,  end     G.  &  S.  insert  s.  d. :  Reading. 
194,  after  So    —    (C,  M.— /  (G.,  S. 

198  blabbers,  ruine — blabber's  ruin  (M.,  f.  The  emendation  is  plausible, 
but  not  absolutely  required. 

202,  s.  d.  Exit — C,  f.  place  at  end  of  line  200,  its  obviously  correct 
position,  as  would  undoubtedly  Q.,  but  for  insufficient  margin  in  the  page 
at  this  point.. 

203  G.  &  S.  give  s.  d. :  Enter  Bellapert,  hastily. 

204  Coach — caroch  (G.,  S. 

205  D'ee— D'ye  (C.,  U.—Do  you  (G.,  S. 


THE    FATAL    DOWRY  115 

No  paine  is  due  to  louers  periury.  210 

If  loue  himfelfe  laugh  at  it,  fo  will  I.  Exit  NoualL 


Scaena  2,     Enter  Charaloys,  Baumont. 
[An  outer  Room  in  Aymer's  House] 

Bau.     I  grieue  for  the^iftafte,  though  I  haue  manners, 
Not  to  inquire  the  caufe,  falne  out  betweene 
Your  Lordfhip  and  Romont. 

Cha.  I  loue  a  friend, 

So  long  as  he  continues  in  the  bounds 

Prefcrib'd  by  friendfhip,  but  when  he  vfurpes  5 

Too  farre  on  what  is  proper  to  my  felfe, 
And  puts  the  habit  of  a  Gouernor  on, 
I  muft  and  will  preferue  my  liberty. 
But  fpeake  of  fomething,  elfe  this  is  a  theame 

I  take  no  pleafure  in :  what's  this  Aymeire,  10 

Whofe  voyce  for  Song,  and  excellent  knowledge  in 
The  chiefeft  parts  of  Mufique,  you  beftow 
Such  prayfes  on? 

Bau.  He  is  a  Gentleman, 

(For  fo  his  quality  fpeakes  him)  well  receiu'd 

Among  our  greateft  Gallants ;  but  yet  holds  15 

His  maine  dependance  from  the  young  Lord  Nouall: 
Some  tricks  and  crotchets  he  has  in  his  head, 
As  all  Muficians  haue,  and  more  of  him 
I  dare  not  author :  but  when  you  haue  heard  him, 
I  may  prefume,  your  Lordfhip  fo  will  like  him,  20 

That  you'l  hereafter  be  a  friend  to  Mufique. 

Cha.     I  neuer  was  an  enemy  to't,  Baumont, 
Nor  yet  doe  I  fubfcribe  to  the  opinion 
Of  thofe  old  Captaines,  that  thought  nothing  muficall, 
But  cries  of  yeelding  enemies,  neighing  of  horfes,  25 

Clafhing  of  armour,  lowd  fhouts,  drums,  and  trumpets : 

211     loue — Jove  (C,  f. 

6     on — omitted  by  C,  M. 

9     ,  following  fomething  transferred  to  follow  elfe  by  C,  f. 


116  THE   FATAL   DOWRY 

Nor  on  the  other  fide  in  fauour  of  it, 

Afifirme  the  world  was  made  by  muficall  difcord, 

Or  that  the  happineffe  of  our  Hfe  confifts 

In  a  well  varied  note  vpon  the  Lute :  ,  30 

I  loue  it  to  the  worth  of  it,  and  no  further. 

But  let  vs  fee  this  wonder. 

Bmt.  He  preuents 

My  calling  of  him. 

Aym.  Let  the  Coach  be  brought       Enter  Aymiere. 

To  the  backe  gate,  and  ferue  the  banquet  vp : 

My  good  Lord  Charalois,  I  thinke  my  houfe  35 

Much  honor'd  in  your  prefence. 

Cha.  To  haue  meanes 

To  know  you  better,  fir,  has  brought  me  hither 
A  willing  vifitant,  and  you'l  crowne  my  welcome 
In  making  me  a  witneffe  to  your  fkill, 
Which  crediting  from  others  I  admire.  40 

Aym.     Had  I  beene  one  houre  fooner  m^ade  acquainted 
With  your  intent  my  Lord,  you  fhould  haue  found  me 
Better  prouided :  now  fuch  as  it  is. 
Pray  you  grace  with  your  acceptance. 

Bail.  You  are  modeft. 

Begin  the  laft  new  ayre. 

Cha.  Shall  we  not  fee  them?  45 

Aym.     This  little  diftance  from  the  inftruments 
Will  to  your  eares  conuey  the  harmony 
With  more  delight. 

Cha.  He  not  confent. 

Aym.  Y'are  tedious, 

By  this  meanes  fhall  I  with  one  banquet  pleafe 

31  of  it— oft  (G.,  S. 

32  and  33    He  .  .  .  him. — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

33,  s.  d.    — G.  &  S.  read :  Enter  Aymer,  speaking  to  one  within. 

45,  after  ayre. — G.  &  S.  insert  s.  d. :  To  the  Musicians  within. 

48    confent — content  (C,  f. — a  correct  emendation. 

48     Y'are— You  are  (G.,  S. 

48,  end    — G.  &  S.  insert  s.  d. :  To  the  Musicians. 

Before  49    — S.  inserts  s.  d. :  Aside. 


THE    FATAL    DOWRY  117 

Two  companies,  thofe  within  and  thefe  Guls  heere.  50 

Song  aboue. 

Miifiqiie  and  a  Song,  Beanmelle  within — ha,  ha,  ha. 

Cha.     How's  this  ?     It  is  my  Ladies  laugh  !  moft  certaine 
When  I  firft  pleas'd  her,  in  this  merry  language, 
She  gaue  me  thanks. 

Bau.  How  like  you  this? 

Cha.  'Tis  rare, 

Yet  I  may  be  deceiu'd,  «nd  fhould  be  forry  55 

Vpon  vncertaine  fuppofitions,  rafhly 
To  write  my  felfe  in  the  blacke  lift  of  thofe 
I  haue  declaymM  againft,  and  to  Romont. 

Aym.     I  would  he  were  well  of — perhaps  your  Lordfhip 
Likes  not  thefe  fad  tunes,  I  haue  a  new  Song  60 

Set  to  a  lighter  note,  may  pleafe  you  better ; 
Tis  cal'd  The  happy  husband. 

Cha.  Pray  fing  it. 

Song  below.     At  the  end  of  the  Song,  Beaumelle  within. 

Beau.     Ha,  ha,  'tis  fuch  a  groome. 

Cha.  Doe  I  heare  this. 

And  yet  ftand  doubtf uU  ?  Exit 

Aym.  Stay  him  I  am  vndone,         Chara. 

And  they  difcouered. 

Bau.  Whats  the  matter? 

Aym.  Ah!  65 

That  women,  when  they  are  well  pleas'd,  cannot  hold. 
But  muft  laugh  out.  Enter  Nouall  lu.  Charaloys, 

After  50,  s.  d. :  Song — i.  e.  the  Cittizeyis  Song  of  the  Courtier,  on  page 
146.    — introduced  here  in  text  by  Cunningham  and  S. 
52,  end    — C.  &  M.  punctuate  with  — ;  G.  &  S.  with  .  . 
54,  after  thanks    — G.  &  S.  insert  s.  d. :  Aside. 
58,  end    — G.  &  S.  insert  s.  d. :  Aside. 

62  Pray  fing — Pray  you  sing  (G. 

s.  d.  after  62,  Song  below — Song  by  Aymer  (G.,  S. ;  it  is  the  Courtiers 
Song  of  the  Citizen,  page  146.  — introduced  here  in  text  by  Cunningham 
and  S. 

63  and  64    Doe  .  .  .  doubtfull? — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 
66    they  are — they're  (C,  f. 

67,  s.  d.  — Enter  Nouall  lu.  Charaloys, — Enter  Charalois,  with  his  sword 
drawn,  pursuing  Novall  junior,  etc.   (G.,  S. 


118  THE   FATAL   DOWRY 

Nou.  Helpe,  faue  me,  murrher,  murther.     Beaumley, 

Beau.     Vndone   foreuer.  Bellapert. 

Cha.  Oh,  my  heart! 

Hold  yet  a  little — doe  not  hope  to  fcape 

By  flight,  it  is  impoffible :  though  I  might  70 

On  all  aduantage  take  thy  life,  and  iuftly; 
This  (word,  my  fathers  fword,  that  nere  was  drawne. 
But  to  a  noble  purpofe,  fhall  not  now 
Doe  th'  office  of  a  hangman,  I  referue  it 

To  right  mine  honour,  not  for  a  reuenge  75 

So  poore,  that  though  with  thee,  it  fhould  cut  off 
Thy  family,  with  all  that  are  allyed 
To  thee  in  luft,  or  bafeneffe,  'twere  ftill  fhort  of 
All  termes  of  fatisfaction.     Draw. 

Nou.  I  dare  not, 

I  haue  already  done  you  too  much  wrong,  80 

To  fight  in  fuch  a  caufe. 

Cha.  Why,  dareft  thou  neyther 

Be  honeft,  coward,  nor  yet  valiant,  knaue? 
In  fuch  a  caufe  come  doe  not  fhame  thy  felfe: 
Such  whofe  bloods  wrongs,  or  wrong  done  to  themfelues 
Could  neuer  heate,  are  yet  in  the  defence  85 

Of  their  whores,  daring  looke  on  her  againe. 
You  thought  her  worth  the  hazard  of  your  foule, 
And  yet  ftand  doubtfull  in  her  quarrell,  to 
Venture  your  body. 

Bau.  No,  he  feares  his  cloaths. 

More  then  his  flefh 

Cha.  Keepe  from  me,  garde  thy  life,  90 

Or  as  thou  haft  liu'd  like  a  goate,  thou  fhalt 
Dye  like  a  fheepe. 

Nou.  Since  ther's  no  remedy         They  fight,  Nouall 

Defpaire  of  fafety  now  in  me  proue  courage.  is  flaine. 

Cha.     How  foone  weak  wrong's  or'throwne !  lend  me  your  hand, 

68     Vndone  foreuer — Undone,  undone,  forever!   (G. — C.  &  M.  give  this 
speech  to  Bellapert. 
74    th'—the  (G.,  S. 

82    M.,  f.  omit  /s  after  honeft  and  valiant. 
86    daring  looke — daring.    Look  (C,  f. 
89  and  90    No  .  .  .  fiefh — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 
93     of — its  /  is  almost  invisible  in  Q. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  119 

Beare  this  to  the  Caroach — come,  you  haue  taught  me  95 

To  fay  you  muft  and  fhall:  I  wrong  you  not, 

Y'are  but  to  keepe  him  company  you  loue. 

Is't  done?  'tis  well.     Raife  officers,  and  take  care. 

All  you  can  apprehend  within  the  houfe 

May  be  forth  comming.     Do  I  appeare  much  mou'd  ?  lOO 

Bau.     No,  fir. 

Cha.  My  grief es  are  now,  Thus  to  be  borne. 

Hereafter  ile  finde  time  stnd  place  to  mourne. 

Exeunt. 


Scaena  j.     Enter  Romont,  Pontalier. 
[A  Street] 

Pont.     I  was  bound  to  feeke  you,  fir. 

Rom.  And  had  you  found  me 

In  any  place,  but  in  the  ftreete,  I  fhould 
Haue  done, — not  talk'd  to  you.     Are  you  the  Captaine  ? 
The  hopefuU  Pontcdierf  whom  I  haue  feene 

Doe  in  the  field  fuch  feruice,  as  then  made  you  5 

Their  enuy  that  commanded,  here  at  home 
To  play  the  parafite  to  a  gilded  knaue. 
And  it  may  be  the  Pander. 

Pont.  Without  this 

I  come  to  call  you  to  account,  for  what 

Is  paft  already.     I  by  your  example  10 

Of  thank fulneffe  to  the  dead  Generall 
By  whom  you  were  raised,  haue  practis'd  to  be  fo 
To  my  good  Lord  Nouall,  by  whom  I  Hue; 
Whofe  leaft  difgrace  that  is,  or  may  be  offred, 

With  all  the  hazzard  of  my  life  and  fortunes,  15 

I  will  make  good  on  you,  or  any  man, 

95  haue — its  e  is  almost  invisible  in  Q. 

96  ;    —?  (G. 

96,  after  jhall  G.  &  S.  insert  s.  d. :  Exeunt  Beaumont  and  Bellapert, 
with  the  body  of  Nouall;  followed  by  Bcaumelle. 

97  Y'are — you  are  (G.,  S. 

97,  end    G.  &  S.  insert  s.  d. :  Re-enter  Beaumont. 
3    not— nor  (C. 

8    .    —?  (C,  f. 


120  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

That  has  a  hand  in't ;  and  fince  you  allowe  me 

A  Gentleman  and  a  fouldier,  there's  no  doubt 

You  will  except  againft  me.     You  fhall  meete 

With  a  faire  enemy,  you  vnderftand  20 

The  right  I  looke  for,  and  muft  haue. 

Rom.  I  doe, 

And  with  the  next  dayes  funne  you  fhall  heare  from  me. 

Exeunt. 


Scaena  4.     Enter  Charalois  with  a  casket,  Beaumelle,  Baumont. 
[A  Room  in  Charalois'  House] 

Cha.     Pray  beare  this  to  my  father,  at  his  leafure 
He  may  perufe  it :  but  with  your  beft  language 
Intreat  his  inftant  prefence :  you  haue  fworne 
Not  to  reueale  what  I  haue  done. 

Bau.  Nor  will  I — 

But— 

Cha.     Doubt  me  not,  by  Heauen,  I  will  doe  nothing  5 

But  what  may  ftand  with  honour :  Pray  you  leaue  me 
To  my  owne  thoughts.     If  this  be  to  me,  rife; 
I  am  not  worthy  the  looking  on,  but  onely 
To  feed  contempt  and  fcorne,  and  that  from  you 

Who  with  the  loffe  of  your  faire  name  haue  caus'd  it,  10 

Were  too  much  cruelty. 

Beau.  I  dare  not  moue  you 

To  heare  me  fpeake.     I  know  my  fault  is  farre 
Beyond  qualification,  or  excufe, 
That  'tis  not  fit  for  me  to  hope,  or  you 

To  thinke  of  mercy ;  onely  I  prefume  15 

To  intreate,  you  would  be  pleas'd  to  looke  vpon 
My  forrow  for  it,  and  beleeue,  thefe  teares 
Are  the  true  children  of  my  griefe  and  not 
A  womans  cunning. 

Cha.  Can  you  Beaumelle, 

4  and  5    Nor  .  .  .  but printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

6,  end    — C,  f.  insert  s.  d. :  Exit  Beaumont. 

7,  end    — C,  f.  insert  s.  d. :  Beaumelle  kneels. 
8    worthy — worth  (G.,  S. 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY  121 

Hauing  deceiued  fo  great  a  truft  as  mine,  20 

Though  I  were  all  credulity,  hope  againe 

To  get  beleefe?  no,  no,  if  you  looke  on  me 

With  pity  or  dare  practife  any  meanes 

To  make  my  fufferings  leffe,  or  giue  iuft  caufe 

To  all  the  world,  to  thinke  what  I  muft  doe  25 

Was  cal'd  vpon  by  you,  vfe  other  waies, 

Deny  what  I  haue  feene,  or  iuftifie 

What  you  haue  done,  ancLas  you  defperately 

Made  fhipwracke  of  your  fayth  to  be  a  whore, 

Vfe  th'  armes  of  fuch  a  one,  and  fuch  defence,  30 

And  multiply  the  finne,  with  impudence. 

Stand  boldly  vp,  and  tell  me  to  my  teeth, 

You  haue  done  but  what's  warranted. 

By  great  examples,  in  all  places,  where 

Women  inhabit,  vrge  your  owne  deferts,  35 

Or  want  of  me  in  merit ;  tell  me  how, 

Your  dowre  from  the  lowe  gulfe  of  pouerty, 

Weighed  vp  my  fortunes,  to  what  now  they  are : 

That  I  was  purchas'd  by  your  choyfe  and  practife 

To  fhelter  you  from  fhame :  that  you  might  finne  40 

As  boldly  as  fecurely,  that  poore  men 

Are  married  to  thofe  wiues  that  bring  them  wealth, 

One  day  their  husbands,  but  obferuers  euer : 

That  when  by  this  prou'd  vfage  you  haue  blowne 

The  fire  of  my  iuft  vengeance  to  the  height,  45 

I  then  may  kill  you :  and  yet  fay  'twas  done 

In  heate  of  blood,  and  after  die  my  felfe. 

To  witneffe  my  repentance. 

Beau.  O  my  fate. 

That  neuer  would  confent  that  I  fhould  fee. 

How  worthy  thou  wert  both  of  loue  and  duty  50 

Before  I  loft  you ;  and  my  mifery  made 

30  th'—the  (G.,  S. 

33  variously  emended  for  defective  metre:  That  you  have  done  but 
what's  warranted,  (C,  M. ;  That  you  have  done  but  what  is  warranted, 

(G. ;  You  have  done  merely  but  what's  warranted,  (S. 

36  of  me  in — in  me  of  (C,  M.,  S.    The  emendation  is  unnecessary. 

38  now  they — they  now  (G. 

50  thou  wert — you  were  (G.,  S. 


122  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

The  glaffe,  in  which  I  now  behold  your  vertue : 

While  I  was  good,  I  was  a  part  of  you, 

And  of  two,  by  the  vertuous  harmony 

Of  our  f aire  minds,  made  one ;  but  fince  I  wandred  55 

In  the  forbidden  Labyrinth  of  luft, 

What  was  infeparable,  is  by  me  diuided. 

With  iuftice  therefore  you  may  cut  me  off, 

And  from  your  memory,  wafh  the  remembrance 

That  ere  I  was  like  to  fome  vicious  purpofe  60 

Within  your  better  iudgement,  you  repent  of 

And  ftudy  to  forget. 

Cha.  O  Beaumelle, 

That  you  can  fpeake  fo  well,  and  doe  fo  ill ! 
But  you  had  been  too  great  a  bleffing,  if 

You  had  continued  chaft :  fee  how  you  force  me  65 

To  this,  becaufe  my  honour  will  not  yeeld 
That  I  againe  fhould  loue  you. 

Beau.  In  this  life 

It  is  not  fit  you  fhou  d :  yet  you  fhall  finde. 
Though  I  was  bold  enough  to  be  a  ftrumpet, 

I  dare  not  yet  Hue  one  :  let  thofe  f am'd  matrones  70 

That  are  canoniz'd  worthy  of  our  fex, 
Tranfcend  me  in  their  fanctity  of  life, 
I  yet  will  equall  them  in  dying  nobly, 
Ambitious  of  no  honour  after  life, 
But  that  when  I  am  dead,  you  will  forgiue  me.  75 

Cha.     How  pity  fteales  vpon  me !  fhould  I  heare  her 
But  ten  words  more,  I  were  loft — one  knocks,  go  in.  Knock 

That  to  be  mercifull  fh  uld  be  a  finne.  within. 

O,  fir,  moft  welcome.     Let  me  take  your  cloake,  Exit  Beau- 

I  muft  not  be  denyed — here  are  your  robes,  melle.        80 

As  you  loue  iuftice  once  more  put  them  on :  Enter 

There  is  a  caufe  to  be  determind  of  Rochfort. 

That  doe's  require  fuch  an  integrity. 
As  you  haue  euer  vs'd — ile  put  you  to 

60,  after  was    — ;  (C,  f. 
61     Within — Which  in  (M.,  f. 

77,  post    — The  three  s.  d.'s  are  made  by  C,  f.  to  follow  respectively 
lines  76,  77,  and  78. 


THE    FATAL    DOWRY   '  123 

The  tryall  of  your  conftancy,  and  goodneffe :  85 

And  looke  that  you  that  haue  beene  Eagle-eyd 

In  other  mens  affaires,  proue  not  a  Mole 

In  what  concernes  your  felfe.     Take  you  your  feate: 

I  will  be  for  you  prefently.  Exit. 

Roch.  Angels  guard  me, 

To  what  ftrange  Tragedy  does  this  deftruction  90 

Serue  for  a  Prologue?  Enter  Charaloys  with  Nouals 

Cha.  So,  fet  iHiowne  before     body.    Beaumelle,  Bau- 

The  Judgement  feate,  and  ftand  you  at  the  bar:  mont. 

For  me  ?    I  am  the  accufer. 

Roch.  Nouall  flayne, 

And  Beaumelle  my  daughter  in  the  place 
Of  one  to  be  arraign'd. 

Cha.  O,  are  you  touch'd?  95 

I  finde  that  I  muft  take  another  courfe, 
Feare  nothing.    I  will  onely  blind  your  eyes. 
For  Justice  fhould  do  fo,  when  'tis  to  meete 
An  obiect  that  may  fway  her  equall  doome 

From  what  it  fhould  be  aim'd  at. — Good  my  Lord,  100 

A  day  of  hearing. 

Roch.  It  is  granted,  fpeake — 

You  fhall  haue  iuftice. 

Cha.  I  then  here  accufe, 

Moft  equall  ludge,  the  prifoner  your  faire  Daughter, 
For  whom  I  owed  fo  much  to  you :  your  daughter. 
So  worthy  in  her  owne  parts :  and  that  worth  105 

Set  forth  by  yours,  to  whofe  fo  rare  perfections. 
Truth  witneffe  with  me,  in  the  place  of  feruice 
I  almoft  pay'd  Idolatrous  facrifice 

89  be  for — before  (C,  M. 

90  deftruction — induction    (G.,   S.,  following  the  suggestion  of   M. 

91,  s.  d.    — G.  &  S.  omit  phrase  with  Nouals  body,  and  affix  to  s.  d. 
with  Servants  bearing  the  Body  of  Novall  junior. 

92,  after  feate,    — G.  &  S.  insert  s.  d. :  Exeunt  Servants. 
93     me — the  e  is  obliterated  in  Q. 

93     ?    -    (C,  f. 

96,  end    — C.  &  M.  insert  s.  d. :  He  hoodwinks  Rochfort.    G.  &  S.  place 
a  similar  s.  d.  at  the  end  of  the  following  line. 

Id  and  102    It  .  .  .  iuftice — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 


124  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

To  be  a  falfe  advltreffe. 

Roch.  With  whom? 

Cha.     With  this  Nouall  here  dead. 

Roch.  Be  wel  aduis'd  no 

And  ere  you  fay  adultreffe  againe, 
Her  fame  depending  on  it,  be  moft  fure 
That  fhe  is  one. 

Cha.  I  tooke  them  in  the  act. 

I  know  no  proofe  beyond  it. 

Roch.  O  my  heart. 

Cha.    A  ludge  fhould  f eele  no  paffions. 

Roch.  Yet  remember  115 

He  is  a  man,  and  cannot  put  off  nature. 
What  anfwere  makes  the  prifoner? 

Beau.  I  confeffe 

The  fact  I  am  charg'd  with,  and  yeeld  my  felfe 
Moft  miferably  guilty. 

Roch.  Heauen  take  mercy 

Vpon  your  foule  then :  it  muft  leaue  your  body.  120 

Now  free  mine  eyes,  I  dare  vnmou'd  looke  on  her, 
And  fortifie  my  fentence,  with  ftrong  reafons. 
Since  that  the  poHtique  law  prouides  that  feruants. 
To  whofe  care  we  commit  our  goods  fhall  die, 

If  they  abufe  our  truft :  what  can  you  looke  for,  125 

To  whofe  charge  this  moft  hopefull  Lord  gaue  vp 
All  he  receiu'd  from  his  braue  Anceftors, 
Or  he  could  leaue  to  his  pofterity  ? 
His  Honour,  wicked  woman,  in  whose  fafety 

All  his  lifes  ioyes,  and  comforts  were  locked  vp,  130 

With  thy  luft,  a  theefe  hath  now  ftolne  from  him. 
And  therefore — 

Cha.  Stay,  iuft  ludge,  may  not  what's  loft 

By  her  owne  fault,  ( for  I  am  charitable. 
And  charge  her  not  with  many)  be  forgotten 
In  her  f aire  life  hereafter  ? 

121,  end    — G.  &  S.  insert  s.  d. :  Charalois  unbinds  his  eyes. 

131     With— Which  (M.,  f. 

131,  after  thy  — G.  says  a  monosyllable  has  been  lost  here.  S.  inserts 
foul.  But  an  acceptable  rhythm  is  secured  by  the  natural  stress  of  the 
voice,  which  emphasizes  and  dwells  upon  thy,  and  again  stresses  kept. 

133     owne — one  (M.,  f. 


/ 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY  125 

Roch.  Neuer,  Sir.  135 

The  wrong  that's  done  to  the  chafte  married  bed, 
Repentant  teares  can  neuer  expiate, 
And  be  affured,  to  pardon  fuch  a  finne. 
Is  an  offence  as  great  as  to  commit  it. 

Cha.     I  may  not  then  forgiue  her. 

Roch.  Nor  fhe  hope  it.  140 

Nor  can  fhe  wifh  to  Hue  no  funne  fhall  rife. 
But  ere  it  fet,  fhall  fhew  Jier  vgly  luft 
In  a  new  fhape,  and  euery  on  more  horrid : 
Nay,  euen  thofe  prayers,  which  with  fuch  humble  feruor 
She  feemes  to  fend  vp  yonder,  are  beate  backe,  145 

And  all  fuites,  which  her  penitance  can  proffer, 
As  soone  as  made,  are  with  contempt  throwne 
Off  all  the  courts  of  mercy.  He  kills  her. 

Cha.  Let  her  die  then. 

Better  prepar'd  I  am.     Sure  I  could  not  take  .her. 

Nor  fhe  accufe  her  father,  as  a  ludge  1 50 

Partiall  againft  her. 

Beau.  I  approue  his  fentence. 

And  kiffe  the  executioner ;  my  luft 
Is  now  run  from  me  in  that  blood ;  in  which 
It  was  begot  and  nourifhed. 

Roch.  Is  fhe  dead  then? 

Cha.     Yes,  fir,  this  is  her  heart  blood,  is  it  not  ?  155 

I  thinke  it  be. 

Roch.  And  you  haue  kild  here? 

Cha.  True, 

And  did  it  by  your  doome 

140,  after  her  .    — ?  (C,  f. 

141     Hue  no — Hue.    No  (C,  M. — Hue:  no  (G.,  S. 

143     on — one  (C,  f. 

147,  end  — G.  &  S.  insert  out,  changing  first  word  of  1.  148  to  Of. 
C.  &  M.  make  Off  of  1.  148  conclude  147,  and  insert  From  to  begin  1.  148. 
It  is  preferable  to  let  the  line  stand  as  it  is,  letting  the  voice,  in  reading, 
dwell  and  pause  upon  are. 

148  s.  d.,  He  kits  her.  transferred  to  end  of  line  by  C.,  f. 

149  /  am.    Sure — /  am  sure  (M. — I'm  sure  (G.,  S. 
154,  after  nourifhed.    — C.,  f.  inserts  s.  d. :  Dies. 

156  and  157     True  .  .  .  doome — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 


126  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

Roch.  But  I  pronounc'd  it 

As  a  ludge  onely,  and  friend  to  iuftice, 
And  zealous  in  defence  of  your  wrong'd  honour, 

Broke  all  the  tyes  of  nature:  and  caft  off  i6o 

The  loue  and  foft  affection  of  a  father. 
I  in  your  caufe,  put  on  a  Scarlet  robe 
Of  red  died  cruelty,  but  in  returne, 
You  haue  aduanc'd  for  me  no  flag  of  mercy : 

I  look'd  on  you,  as  a  wrong'd  husband,  but  165 

You  clos'd  your  eyes  againft  me,  as  a  father. 

0  Beaumelle,  my  daughter. 

Cha.  This  is  madneffe. 

Roch.     Keepe  from  me — could  not  one  good  thought  rife  vp, 
To  tell  you  that  fhe  was  my  ages  comfort. 

Begot  by  a  weake  man,  and  borne  a  woman,  170 

And  could  not  therefore,  but  partake  of  frailety? 
Or  wherefore  did  not  thankfulneffe  ftep  forth. 
To  vrge  my  many  merits,  which  I  may 
Obiect  vnto  you,  fince  you  proue  vngratefull, 
Flinty-hearted  Charaloysf 

Cha.  Nature  does  preuaile  175 

Aboue  your  vertue. 

Roch.  No !  it  giues  me  eyes, 

To  pierce  the  heart  of  defigne  againft  me. 

1  finde  it  now,  it  was  my  ftate  was  aym'd  at, 

A  nobler  match  was  fought  for,  and  the  houres 

I  liu'd,  grew  teadious  to  you :  my  compaffion  180 

Towards  you  hath  rendred  me  moft  miferable. 

And  f oolifh  charity  vndone  my  felf e : 

But  ther's  a  Heauen  aboue,  from  whofe  iuft  wreake 

No  mifts  of  policy  can  hide  ofTendors.  Enter  Nouall  fe. 

Nou.  fe.     Force  ope  the  doors — O  monfter,  caniball,         with       185 
Lay  hold  on  him,  my  fonne,  my  fonne. — O  Rochfort,      Officers. 

158    and  friend — and  a  friend  (C,  f. 

175    Flinty Flint-  (G.,  S. 

175  and  176    Nature  .  .  .  vertue. — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 
177,  after  of    — C,  f.  insert  your.    But  the  change  is  not  required  by  the 
sense ;  nor  by  the  metre,  if  the  voice  be  alloAved  to  dwell  on  heart. 
184    s.  d. :  Enter  Nouall,  etc. — G.  &  S.  place  after  doors  in  next  line. 
185,  before  Force    — G.  &  S.  insert  s.  d. :  Within. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  127 

Twas  you  gaue  liberty  to  this  bloody  wolfe 
To  worry  all  our  comforts, — But  this  is 
No  time  to  quarrell ;  now  giue  your  affiftance 
For  the  reuenge. 

Roch.  Call  it  a  fitter  name —  190 

lultice  for  innocent  blood. 

Cha.  Though  all  confpire 

Againft  that  life  which  I  am  weary  of, 
A  little  longer  yet  ile  ftr-fUe  to  keepe  it, 
To  fhew  in  fpite  of  malice,  and  their  lawes. 
His  plea  muft  fpeed  that  hath  an  honeft  caufe.  Exeunt      195 

190  and  191     Call .  .  .  blood. — printed  as  one  line  in  Q.  ^ 


Actus  quintus,      Scaena  prima, 

\A  Street] 
Enter  Liladam,  Taylor,  Officers. 

Lila 

WHy  'tis  both  moft  vnconfcionable,  and  vntimely 
T'arreft  a  gallant  for  his  cloaths,  before 
He  has  worne  them  out :  befides  you  fayd  you  afk'd 
My  name  in  my  Lords  bond  but  for  me  onely, 

And  now  you'l  lay  me  vp  for't.     Do  not  thinke  5 

The  taking  meafure  of  a  cuftomer 
By  a  brace  of  varlets,  though  I  rather  wait 
Neuer  fo  patiently,  will  proue  a  fafhion 
Which  any  Courtier  or  Innes  of  court  man 
Would  follow  willingly. 

Tayl.  '    There  I  beleeue  you.  lO 

But  fir,  I  muft  haue  prefent  moneys,  or 
Affurance  to  fecure  me,  when  I  fhall. — 
Or  I  will  fee  to  your  comming  forth. 

Lila.  Plague  on't. 

You  haue  prouided  for  my  enterance  in : 

That  comming  forth  you  talke  of,  concernes  me.  15 

What  fhall  I  doe  ?  you  haue  done  me  a  difgrace 
In  the  arreft,  but  more  in  giuing  caufe 
To  all  the  ftreet,  to  thinke  I  cannot  ftand 
Without  thefe  two  fupporters  for  my  armes : 

Pray  you  let  them  loofe  me  :  for  their  fatisf action  20 

I  will  not  run  away. 

Tayl.  For  theirs  you  will  not, 

Enter,  etc.    Officers — two  Bailiffs.     (G.,  S. 
2    T'arreft — To  arrest  (G.,  S. 
4    forme — for  form  (M.,  f. 
16    you  haue — you've  (C,  M. 

128 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY  129 

But  for  your  owne  you  would ;  looke  to  them  fellows. 

Lila.     Why  doe  you  call  them  fellows  ?  doe  not  wrong 
Your  reputation  fo,  as  you  are  meerely 

A  Taylor,  faythfull,  apt  to  beleeue  in  Gallants  25 

You  are  a  companion  at  a  ten  crowne  fupper 
For  cloth  of  bodkin,  and  may  with  one  Larke 
Eate  vp  three  manchets,  and  no  man  obferue  you, 
Or  call  your  trade  in  queftion  for't.     But  when 

You  ftudy  your  debt-booke,  and  hold  correfpondence  30 

With  officers  of  the  hanger,  and  leaue  fwordmen, 
The  learned  conclude,  the  Taylor  and  Sergeant 
In  the  expreffion  of  a  knaue  are  thefe 
To  be  Synonima.     Looke  therefore  to  it. 

And  let  vs  part  in  peace,  I  would  be  loth  35 

You  fhould  vndoe  your  felfe. 

Tayl.  To  let  you  goe     Enter  old  Nouall, 

Were  the  next  way.  and  Pontalier. 

But  fee !  heeres  your  old  Lord, 
Let  him  but  giue  his  worde  I  fhall  be  paide, 
And  you  are  free. 

Lila.  S'lid,  I  will  put  him  to't : 

I  can  be  but  denied  :  or  what  fay  you  ?  40 

His  Lordfhip  owing  me  three  times  your  debt. 
If  you  arreft  him  at  my  fuite,  and  let  me 
Goe  run  before  to  fee  the  action  entred. 
Twould  be  a  witty  left. 

Tayl.  I  muft  haue  erneft: 

I  cannot  pay  my  debts  fo. 

Pont.  Can  your  Lordfhip  45 

Imagine,  while  I  Hue  and  weare  a  fword, 
Your  fonnes  death  fhall  be  reueng'd? 

22  them — him  (C,  f.    The  Q.  reading  is  preferable  in  every  way. 

24  fo — M.  omits. 

26  You  are — You're  (C,  M. 

32,  after  and    — G.  &  S.  insert  the. 

33  are  thefe— or  thief  CM..— and  thief  (G.,  S.,  which  seems  slightly  the 
more  probable  correction. 

34  Synonima— synonymous  (C,  M. 

36,  end  s.  d.    — C,  f .  place  s.  d.  after  felfe. 

39    /  will— I'll  (C,  m. 

47    reueng'd — un-revenged  (C,  f., — an  obviously  correct  emendation. 


130  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

Nou.  fe.  I  know  not 

One  reafon  why  you  fhould  not  doe  like  others : 
I  am  fure,  of  all  the  herd  that  fed  vpon  him, 

I  cannot  fee  in  any,  now  hee's  gone,  50 

In  pitty  or  in  thank fulneffe  one  true  figne 
Of  forrow  for  him. 

Pont.  All  his  bounties  yet 

Fell  not  in  fuch  vnthankfull  ground :  'tis  true 
He  had  weakeneffes,  but  fuch  as  few  are  free  from, 
And  though  none  footh'd  them  leffe  then  I :  for  now  55 

To  fay  that  I  forefaw  the  dangers  that 
Would  rife  from  cherifhing  them,  were  but  vntimely. 
I  yet  could  wifh  the  iuftice  that  you  feeke  for 
In  the  reuenge,  had  been  trufted  to  me. 

And  not  the  vncertaine  iffue  of  the  lawes :  60 

'Tas  rob'd  me  of  a  noble  teftimony 
Of  what  I  durft  doe  for  him :  but  howeuer, 
My  for  fait  life  redeemed  by  him  though  dead, 
Shall  doe  him  feruice. 

Nou.  fe.  As  farre  as  my  griefe 

Will  giue  me  leaue,  I  thanke  you. 

Lila.  Oh  my  Lord,  65 

Oh  my  good  Lord,  deliuer  me  from  thefe  furies. 

Pont.     Arrefted?    This  is  one  of  them  whofe  bafe 
And  obiect  flattery  helpt  to  digge  his  graue : 
He  is  not  worth  your  pitty,  nor  my  anger. 
Goe  to  the  bafket  and  repent. 

Nou.  fe.  Away  70 

I  onely  know  now  to  hate  thee  deadly : 
I  will  doe  nothing  for  thee. 

Lila.  Nor  you,  Captaine. 

Pont.     No,  to  your  trade  againe,  put  ofif  this  cafe. 
It  may  be  the  difcouering  what  you  were, 

When  your  vnfortunate  mafter  tooke  you  vp,  75 

May  moue  compaffion  in  your  creditor. 

57,  end    .    — ,  (C,  f. 
61    'Tas— It  has  (M.,  f. 
68    obiect — abject  (C,  f. 

70  and  71     Away  .  .  .  deadly: — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 
71,  after  know — G.  &  S..  insert  thee,  which  secures  a  smoother  metre,  but 
is  not  warranted. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  131 

Confeffe  the  truth.  Exit  Nouall  fe.    Pont. 

Lila.  And  now  I  thinke  on't  better, 

I  will,  brother,  your  hand,  your  hand,  fweet  brother. 
I  am  of  your  feet,  and  my  gallantry  but  a  dreame, 
Out  of  which  thefe  two  fearefull  apparitions  80 

Againft  my  will  haue  wak'd  me.     This  rich  fword 
Grew  fuddenly  out  of  a  taylors  bodkin ; 
Thefe  hangers  from  my  vailes  and  fees  in  Hell : 
And  where  as  now  this  beauer  fits,  full  often 

A  thrifty  cape  compos'd  of  broad  cloth  lifts,  85 

Nere  kin  vnto  the  cufhion  where  I  fate. 
Croffe-leg'd,  and  yet  vngartred,  hath  beene  feene, 
Our  breakefafts  famous  for  the  buttred  loaues, 
I  haue  with  ioy  bin  oft  acquainted  with, 

And  therefore  vfe  a  confcience,  though  it  be  90 

Forbidden  in  our  hall  towards  other  men, 
To  me  that  as  I  haue  beene,  will  againe 
Be  of  the  brotherhood. 

Offi.  I  know  him  now : 

He  was  a  prentice  to  Le  Robe  at  Orleance. 

Lila.     And  from  thence  brought  by  my  young  Lord,  now  dead,       95 
Vnto  Dijon,  and  with  him  till  this  houre 
Hath  bin  receiu'd  here  for  a  compleate  Mounfieur. 
Nor  wonder  at  it :  for  but  tythe  our  gallants, 
Euen  thofe  of  the  firft  ranke,  and  you  will  finde 

In  euery  ten,  one :  peraduenture  two,  100 

That  fmell  ranke  of  the  dancing  fchoole,  or  fiddle. 
The  pantofle  or  preffing  yron :  but  hereafter 
Weele  talke  of  this.     I  will  furrender  vp 
My  fuites  againe :  there  cannot  be  much  loffe, 

'Tis  but  the  turning  of  the  lace,  with  ones  105 

Additions  more  you  know  of,  and  what  wants 

79    /  am — I'm  (  C,  f . 

84  fits — M.  reads  fits,  the  first  letter  in  Q.  not  being  certainly  distin- 
guishable as  /  or  /. 

85  cape— cap  (C,  f. 

86  fate.— sat,  (C,  f. 

93    Offi.— I  Bail.  (G.,  S. 
97    Hath— Have  (M.,  G. 

105  ones — one  (C,  f. 

106  Additions— Addition  (C,  f. 


132  THE    FATAL    DOWRY 

I  will  worke  out. 

Tayl.  Then  here  our  quarrell  ends. 

The  gallant  is  turn'd  Taylor,  and  all  friends.         Exeunt. 


Scaena  2.     Enter  Romont,  Baumont, 
[The  Court  of  Justice] 

Rom.     You  haue  them  ready. 

Bau.  Yes,  and  they  will  fpeake 

Their  knowledg  in  this  caufe,  when  thou  thinkft  fit 
To  haue  them  cal'd  vpon. 

Rom.  'Tis  well,  and  fomething 

I  can  adde  to  their  euidence,  to  proue 

This  braue  reuenge,  which  they  would  haue  cal'd  murther,  5 

A  noble  luftice. 

Bau.  In  this  you  expreffe 

(The  breach  by  my  Lords  want  of  you,  new  made  vp) 
A  faythfull  friend. 

Rom.  That  friendfhip's  rays'd  on  fand, 

Which  euery  fudden  guft  of  dif content, 

Or  flowing  of  our  paffions  can  change,  10 

As  if  it  nere  had  bin :  but  doe  you  know 
Who  are  to  fit  on  him  ? 

Bau.  Mounfieur  Du  Croy 

Affifted  by  Charmi. 

Rom.  The  Aduocate 

That  pleaded  for  the  Marfhalls  funerall, 
And  was  checkt  for  it  by  Nouall. 

Bau.  The  fame  15 

Rom.     How  fortunes  that? 

Bau.  W^hy,  fir,  my  Lord  Nouall 

Being  the  accufer,  cannot  be  the  ludge, 
Nor  would  grieue  Rochfort,  but  Lord  Charaloys 

2    thou  thinkft — you  think  (G.,  S. 

7    new — now  (M. 

15,  after  Nouall    .    —?  (G.,  S. 

18    grieue — grieved  (M.,  f.,  a  correct  emendation. 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY  133 

(Howeuer  he  might  wrong  him  by  his  power,) 
Should  haue  an  equall  hearing. 

Rom.  By  my  hopes  20 

Of  Charaloys  acquitall,  I  lament 
That  reuerent  old  mans  fortune. 

Bau.  Had  you  feene  him, 

As  to  my  griefe  I  haue  now  promis'd  patience, 
And  ere  it  was  beleeu'd,  though  fpake  by  him 

That  neuer  brake  his  word',  inrag'd  againe  25 

So  far  as  to  make  warre  vpon  thofe  heires 
Which  not  a  barbarous  Sythian  durft  prefume 
To  touch,  but  with  a  fuperftitious  feare, 
As  fomething  facred,  and  then  curfe  his  daughter. 

But  with  more  frequent  violence  himfelfe,  30 

As  if  he  had  bin  guilty  of  her  fault. 
By  being  incredulous  of  your  report. 
You  would  not  onely  iudge  him  worrhy  pitty. 
But  fuffer  with  him.  Enter  Charalois,  with 

But  heere  comes  the  prifoner.         Officers. 
I  dare  not  ftay  to  doe  my  duty  to  him,  35 

Yet  reft  affur'd,  all  poffible  meanes  in  me 

To  doe  him  feruice,  keepes  you  company.  Exit  Bau. 

■  Rom.     It  is  not  doubted. 

Cha.  Why,  yet  as  I  came  hither, 

The  people  apt  to  mocke  calamity. 

And  tread  on  the  opprefs'd,  made  no  homes  at  me,  40 

Though  they  are  too  familiar :  I  deferue  them. 
And  knowing  what  blood  my  fword  hath  drunke 
In  wreake  of  that  difgrace,  they  yet  forbare 
To  fhake  their  heads,  or  to  reuile  me  for 

A  murtherer,  they  rather  all  put  on  45 

(As  for  great  loffes  the  old  Romans  vs'd) 
A  generall  face  of  forrow,  waighted  on 

23,  after  haue    — C,  f.  insert  ,  . 

23    promis'd — promise  (C,  f. 

26    heires — i.  e.,  of  course,  hairs; — so  modernized  by  C,  f. 

33    worrhy — Q.  misprint  for  worthy; — corrected  by  C,  f. 

39,  after  people — C,  f.  insert  ,  . 

42,  after  knowing    — M.,  f.  insert  too. 


134  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

By  a  fad  murmur  breaking  through  their  filence, 

And  no  eye  but  was  readier  with  a  teare 

To  witneffe  'twas  fhed  for  me,  then  I  could  50 

Difcerne  a  face  made  vp  with  fcorne  againft  me. 

Why  fhould  I  then,  though  for  vnufuall  wrongs, 

I  chofe  vnufuall  meanes  to  right  thofe  wrongs, 

Condemne  my  felfe,  as  ouer-partiall 

In  my  owne  caufe  Romont? 

Rom.  Beft  friend,  well  met,  55 

By  my  hearts  loue  to  you,  and  ioyne  to  that, 
My  thankfulneffe  that  ftill  Hues  to  the  dead, 
I  looke  vpon  you  now  with  more  true  ioy. 
Then  when  I  faw  you  married. 

Cha.  You  haue  reafon 

To  giue  you  warrant  f or't ;  my  f alHng  off  60 

From  fuch  a  friendfhip  with  the  fcorne  that  anfwered 
Your  too  propheticke  counfell,  may  well  moue  you 
To  thinke  your  meeting  me  going  to  my  death, 
A  fit  encounter  for  that  hate  which  iuftly 
I  haue  deferu'd  from  you. 

Rom.  Shall  I  ftill  then  65 

Speake  truth,  and  be  ill  vnderftood  ? 

Cha.  You  are  not. 

I  am  confcious,  I  haue  wrong'd  you,  and  allow  me 
Only  a  morall  man  to  looke  on  you. 
Whom  foolifhly  I  haue  abus'd  and  iniur'd, 

Muft  of  neceffity  be  more  terrible  to  me,  70 

Then  any  death  the  ludges  can  pronounce 
From  the  tribunall  which  I  am  to  plead  at. 

Rom.     Paffion  tranfports  you. 

Cha.  For  what  I  haue  done 

To  my  falfe  Lady,  or  Nouall,  I  can 

Giue  fome  apparent  caufe :  but  touching  you,  75 

In  my  defence,  childlike,  I  can  fay  nothing, 

55,  after  caufe    — .— (C,  M.  — f— (G.,  S.,  which  is  right. 

67    /  am — I'm  (C,  M. 

68,  after  man — M.  inserts  ,  ,  and  G.  &  S.  ; — . 

76,  end    G.  &  S.  omit  ,  . 


THE    FATAL    DOWRY  135 

But  I  am  forry  for't,  a  poore  fatis  faction : 
And  yet  miftake  me  not :  for  it  is  more 
Then  I  will  fpeake,  to  haue  my  pardon  fi^n'd 
For  all  I  ftand  accus'd  of. 

Rom.  You  much  weaken  80 

The  ftrength  of  your  good  caufe.     Should  you  but  thinke 
A  man  for  doing  well  could  entertaine 
A  pardon,  were  it  offred,  you  haue  giuen 
To  blinde  and  flow-pac'd  iiritice,  wings,  and  eyes 

To  fee  and  ouertake  impieties,  85 

Which  from  a  cold  proceeding  had  receiu'd 
Indulgence  or  protection. 

Cha.  Thinke  you  fo? 

Rom.     Vpon  my  foule  nor  fhould  the  blood  you  chalenge 
And  took  to  cure  your  honour,  breed  more  fcruple 

In  your  foft  confcience,  then  if  your  fword  90 

Had  bin  fheath'd  in  a  Tygre,  or  fhe  Beare, 
That  in  their  bowels  would  haue  made  your  tombe 
To  iniure  innocence  is  more  then  murther : 
But  when  inhumane  lufts  transforme  vs,  then 

Like  beafts  we  are  to  fuffer,  not  like  men  95 

To  be  lamented.     Nor  did  Charalois  euer 
Performe  an  act  fo  worthy  the  applaufe 
Of  a  full  theater  of  perfect  men, 
As  he  hath  done  in  this :  the  glory  got 

By  ouerthrowing  outward  enemies,  100 

Since  ftrength  and  fortune  are  maine  fharers  in  it, 
We  cannot  but  by  pieces  call  our  owne : 
^  But  when  we  conquer  our  inteftine  foes, 
Our  paffions  breed  within  vs,  and  of  thofe 

The  moft  rebellious  tyrant  powerfull  loue,  105 

Our  reafon  fuffering  vs  to  like  no  longer 
Then  the  faire  obiect  being  good  deferues  it, 
)  That's  a  true  victory,  which,  were  great  men 
Ambitious  to  atchieue,  by  your  example 

77,  after  But    — G.  &  S.  insert  ,  . 

80  and  81     You  .  .  .  caufe. — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

88    chalenge — challenged  (G.,  S. — a  correct  emendation. 

91     Tygre — tigress  (C,  M. 

104    breed — bread  (C.,  f.     The  Q.  reading  is  perfectly  satisfactory. 


136  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

Setting  no  price  vpon  the  breach  of  fayth,  no 

But  loffe  of  life,  'twould  fright  adultery 
Out  of  their  families,  and  make  luft  appeare 
As  lothfome  to  vs  in  the  first  confent. 
As  when  'tis  wayted  on  by  punifhment. 

Cha.     You  haue  confirm'd  me.     Who  would  loue  a  woman         115 
That  might  inioy  in  fuch  a  man,  a  friend  ? 
You  haue  made  me  know  the  iuftice  of  my  caufe, 
And  mark't  me  out  the  way,  how  to  defend  it. 

Rom.     Continue  to  that  refolution  conftant. 
And  you  fhall,  in  contempt  of  their  worft  malice,  .         120 

Come  off  with  honour.     Heere  they  come. 

Cha.  I  am  ready. 


Scaena  j.     Enter  Du  Croy,  Charmi,  Rochfort,  Noucdl  fe. 
Pontalier,  Baumont. 

Nou.  fe.     See,  equall  ludges,  with  what  confidence 
The  cruel  murtherer  ftands,  as  if  he  would 
Outface  the  Court  and  Iuftice ! 

Roch.  But  looke  on  him. 

And  you  fhall  find,  for  ftill  methinks  I  doe, 

Though  guilt  hath  dide  him  black,  fomething  good  in  him,  5 

That  may  perhaps  worke  with  a  wifer  man 
Then  I  haue  beene,  againe  to  fet  him  free 
And  giue  him  all  he  has. 

Charmi.  This  is  not  well. 

I  would  you  had  liu'd  fo,  my  Lord  that  I, 

Might  rather  haue  continu'd  your  poore  feruant,  10 

Then  fit  here  as  your  ludge, 

Du  Croy  I  am  forry  for  you. 

Roch.     In  no  act  of  my  life  I  haue  deferu'd 
This  iniury  from  the  court,  that  any  heere 
Should  thus  vnciuilly  vfurpe  on  what 
Is  proper  to  me  only. 

117     You  haue — You've  (C,  M. 

Scaena  3 — omitted  by  G.  &  S., — and  correctly  so,  for  there  is  no  change 
in  place  from  the  preceding,  and  the  action  is  uninterrupted. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  137 

Du  Cr.  What  diftafte  15 

Receiues  my  Lord  ? 

Roch.  You  fay  you  are  forry  for  him : 

A  griefe  in  which  I  muft  not  haue  a  partner : 
'Tis  I  alone  am  forry,  that  I  rays'd 
The  building  of  my  life  for  feuenty  yeeres 

Vpon  fo  fure  a  ground,  that  all  the  vices  20 

Practis'd  to  ruine  man,  though  brought  againft  me, 
Could  neuer  vndermine,  and  no  way  left 
To  fend  thefe  gray  haires  to  the  graue  with  forrow. 
Vertue  that  was  my  patroneffe  betrayd  me : 

For  entring,  nay,  poffeffing  this  young  man,  25 

It  lent  him  fuch  a  powerfuU  Maiefty 
To  grace  what  ere  he  vndertooke,  that  freely 
I  gaue  myfelfe  vp  with  my  liberty, 
To  be  at  his  difpofing ;  had  his  perfon 

Louely  I  muft  confeffe,  or  far  fain'd  valour,  '  30 

Or  any  other  feeming  good,  that  yet 
Holds  a  neere  neyghbour-hood,  with  ill  wrought  on  me, 
I  might  haue  borne  it  better :  but  when  goodneffe 
And  piety  it  felfe  in  her  beft  figure 

Were  brib'd  to  by  deftruction,  can  you  blame  me,  35 

Though  I  forget  to  fuffer  like  a  man, 
Or  rather  act  a  woman  ? 

Bau.  Good  my  Lord. 

Nou.  fe.     You  hinder  our  proceeding. 

Charmi.  And  forget 

The  parts  of  an  accufer. 

Bau.  Pray  you  remember 

To  vfe  the  temper  which  to  me  you  promis'd.  40 

Roch.     Angels  themfelues  muft  breake  Baumont,  that  promife 
Beyond  the  ftrength  and  patience  of  Angels. 
But  I  haue  done,  my  good  Lord,  pardon  me 
A  weake  old  man,  and  pray  adde  to  that 

18,  after  that — M.,  f.  insert  when.    See  Notes. 

30    fain'd famed  (M.,  f. 

32    — ,  after  neyghbour-hood  in  Q.  is  placed  after  ill  by  C,  f. 

35     by— my   (C,  f. 

44,  after  pray — G.  &  S.  insert  you. 


138  THE    FATAL    DOWRY 

A  miferable  father,  yet  be  carefull  43 

That  your  compaffion  of  my  age,  nor  his, 
Moue  you  to  anything,  that  may  dif-become 
The  place  on  which  you  fit. 

Charmi.  Read  the  Inditement. 

Cha.     It  fhall  be  needeleffe,  I  my  felfe,  my  Lords, 
Will  be  my  owne  accufer,  and  confeffe  50 

All  they  can  charge  me  with,  or  will  I  fpare 
To  aggrauate  that  guilt  with  circumftance 
They  feeke  to  loade  me  with :  onely  I  pray, 
That  as  for  them  you  will  vouchfafe  me  hearing: 
I  may  not  be,  denide  it  for  my  felfe,  55 

When  I  fhall  vrge  by  what  vnanfwerable  reafons 
I  was  compel'd  to  what  I  did,  which  yet 
Till  you  haue  taught  me  better,  I  repent  not. 

Roch.     The  motion  honeft. 

Charmi.  And  'tis  freely  granted. 

Cha.     Then  I  confeffe  my  Lords,  that  I  ftood  bound,  60 

When  with  my  friends,  euen  hope  it  felfe  had  left  me 
To  this  mans  charity  for  my  liberty. 
Nor  did  his  bounty  end  there,  but  began : 
For  after  my  enlargement,  cherifhing 

The  good  he  did,  he  made  me  mafter  of  65 

His  onely  daughter,  and  his  whole  eftate : 
Great  ties  of  thankfulneffe  I  muft  acknowledge. 
Could  any  one  freed  by  you,  preffe  this  further 
But  yet  confider,  my  moft  honourd  Lords, 

If  to  receiue  a  fauour,  make  a  feruant,  -  70 

And  benefits  are  bonds  to  tie  the  taker 
To  the  imperious  will  of  him  that  giues, 
Ther's  none  but  flaues  will  receiue  courtefie. 
Since  they  muft  fetter  vs  to  our  difhonours. 

47     dif-become — mis-become  (C,  M. 

50  — u  in  accufer  is  inverted  in  Q. 

51  or — nor  (C,  f. 

59  motion — motion's  (C,  f. 

60  — n  in  confeffe  is  inverted  in  Q. 
68    freed— feed  (M.,  f. 

68,  end    — f  (C,  f. 

73     courtefie — courtesies  (C,  f.    Q.  reading  is  preferable.    See  Glossary. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  139 

Can  it  be  cal'd  magnificence  in  a  Prince,  75 

To  powre  downe  riches,  with  a  Jiberall  hand, 

Vpon  a  poore  mans  wants,  if  that  muft  bind  him 

To  play  the  foothing  parafite  to  his  vices  ? 

Or  any  man,  becaufe  he  fau'd  my  hand, 

Prefume  my  head  and  heart  are  at  his  feruice  ?  80 

Or  did  I  ftand  ingag'd  to  buy  my  freedome 

(When  my  captiuity  was  honourable) 

By  making  my  felfe  here  afrd  fame  hereafter, 

Bondflaues  to  mens  fcorne  and  calumnious  tongues  ? 

Had  his  faire  daughters  mind  bin  like  her  feature,  85 

Or  for  fome  little  blemifh  I  had  fought 

For  my  content  elfewhere,  wafting  on  others 

My  body  and  her  dowry ;  my  f orhead  then 

Deferu'd  the  brand  of  bafe  ingratitude : 

But  if  obfequious  vfage,  and  faire  warning  90 

To  keepe  her  worth  my  loue,  could  preferue  her 

From  being  a  whore,  and  yet  no  cunning  one, 

So  to  offend,  and  yet  the  fault  kept  from  me  ? 

What  fhould  I  doe?  let  any  freeborne  fpirit 

Determine  truly,  if  that  thankfulneffe,  95 

Choife  forme  with  the  whole  world  giuen  for  a  dowry. 

Could  ftrengthen  fo  an  honeft  man  with  patience. 

As  with  a  willing  necke  to  vndergoe 

The  infupportable  yoake  of  flaue  or  wittoll. 

Charmi.     What  proofe  haue  you  fhe  did  play  falfe,  befides         100 
your  oath? 

Cha.  Her  owne  confefflon  to  her  father. 

I  afke  him  for  a  witneffe. 

Roch.  'Tis  moft  true. 

I  would  not  willingly  blend  my  laft  words 
With  an  vntruth. 

Cha.  And  then  to  cleere  my  felfe, 

That  his  great  wealth  was  not  the  marke  I  fhot  at,  105 

But  that  I  held  it,  when  faire  Beaumelle 

yy    that — they  (S. 
88    dowry — dower  (G.,  S. 

91     could  preferue— could  not  preserve  (C,  f.    The  emendation  is  clearly 
required. 


140  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

Fell  from  her  vertue,  like  the  fatall  gold 

Which  Brennus  tooke  from  Delphos,  whofe  poffeffion 

Brought  with  it  ruine  to  himfelfe  and  Army. 

Heer's  one  in  Court,  Baumont,  by  whom  I  fent  no 

All  graunts  and  writings  backe,  which  made  it  mine, 

Before  his  daughter  dy'd  by  his  owne  fentence, 

As  freely  as  vnask'd  he  gaue  it  to  me. 

Bau.     They  are  here  to  be  feene. 

Charmi.  Open  the  casket. 

Perufe  that  deed  of  gift. 

Rom.  Halfe  of  the  danger  115 

Already  is  difcharg'd :  the  other  part 
As  brauely,  and  you  are  not  onely  free, 
But  crownd  with  praife  for  euer. 

Du  Croy.  'Tis  apparent. 

Charmi.     Your  ftate,  my  Lord,  againe  is  yours. 

Roch.  Not  mine, 

I  am  not  of  the  world,  if  it  can  profper,  120 

(And  being  iuftly  got,  He  not  examine 
Why  it  fhould  be  fo  fatall)  doe  you  beftow  it 
On  pious  vfes.     He  goe  feeke  a  graue. 
And  yet  for  proofe,  I  die  in  peace,  your  pardon 

I  aske,  and  as  you  grant  it  me,  may  Heauen  125 

Your  confcience,  and  thefe  ludges  free  you  from  Exit 

What  you  are  charg'd  with.     So  farewell  for  euer. —        Roch. 

Nouall  fe.     He  be  mine  owne  guide.     Paffion,  nor  example 
Shall  be  my  leaders.     I  haue  loft  a  fonne, 

A  fonne,  graue  ludges,  I  require  his  blood  130 

From  his  accurfed  homicide. 

Charmi.  What  reply  you 

In  your  defence  for  this? 

Cha.  I  but  attended 

Your  Lordfhips  pleafure.     For  the  fact,  as  of 
The  former,  I  confeffe  it,  but  with  what 

Bafe  wrongs  I  was  vnwillingly  drawne  to  it,  135 

To  my  few  wordes  there  are  fome  other  proofes 
To  witneffe  this  for  truth,  when  I  was  married : 

137,  after  truth     ,    —.   (M.,  f. 


THE    FATAL    DOWRY  141 

For  there  I  muft  begin.     The  flayne  Nouall 

Was  to  my  wife,  in  way  of  our  French  courtfhip, 

A  moft  deuoted  feruant,  but  yet  aym'd  at  140 

Nothing  but  meanes  to  quench  his  wanton  heate, 

His  heart  being  neuer  warm'd  by  lawfull  fires 

As  mine  was  (Lords:)  and  though  on  thefe  prefumptions, 

loyn'd  to  the  hate  betweene  his  houfe  and  mine, 

I  might  with  opportunity  and  eafe  145 

Haue  found  a  way  for  my  reuenge,  I  did  not ; 

But  ftill  he  had  the  freedome  as  before 

When  all  was  mine,  and  told  that  he  abus'd  it 

With  fome  vnfeemely  licence,  by  my  friend 

My  appou'd  friend  Romont,  I  gaue  no  credit  150 

To  the  reporter,  but  reprou'd  him  for  it 

As  one  vncourtly  and  malicious  to  him. 

What  could  I  more,  my  Lords?  yet  after  this 

He  did  continue  in  his  firft  purfute 

Hoter  then  euer,  and  at  length  obtaind  it ;  155 

But  how  it  came  to  my  moft  certaine  knowledge. 

For  the  dignity  of  the  court  and  my  owne  honour 

I  dare  not  fay. 

Nou.  fe.  If  all  may  be  beleeu'd 

A  paffionate  prifoner  fpeakes,  who  is  fo  foolifh 

That  durft  be  wicked,  that  will  appeare  guilty  ?  160 

No,  my  graue  Lords :  in  his  impunity 
But  giue  example  vnto  iealous  men 
To  cut  the  throats  they  hate,  and  they  will  neuer 
Want  matter  or  pretence  for  their  bad  ends. 

Charmi.    You  muft  find  other  proofes  to  ftrengthen  thefe  165 

But  more  prefumptions. 

Du  Croy.  Or  we  fhall  hardly 

Allow  your  innocence. 

Cha.  All  your  attempts 

138,  after  begin    .    — ,  (G.,  S. — C.  &  M.  inclose  For  .  .  .  begin  in  (  )'s. 
139    n  in  French  is  inverted  in  Q. 

150    appou'd — i.  e.,  approu'd;  in  Q.  the  r  is  wanting  as  above.     Later 
editors  correct. 
166    more — mere  (C,  f.    See  Notes. 


142  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

Shall  fall  on  me,  like  brittle  fhafts  on  armour, 

That  breake  themfelues ;  or  like  waues  againft  a  rocke, 

That  leaue  no  figne  of  their  ridiculous  fury  170 

But  f oame  and  fplinters,  my  innocence  like  thefe 

Shall  ftand  triumphant,  and  your  malice  ferue 

But  for  a  trumpet ;  to  proclaime  my  conqueft 

Nor  fhall  you,  though  you  doe  the  worft  fate  can, 

How  ere  condemne,  affright  an  honeft  man.  175 

Rom.     May  it  pleafe  the  Court.  I  may  be  heard. 

Nou.  fe.  You  cdme  not 

To  raile  againe  ?  but  doe,  you  fhall  not  finde. 
Another  Rochfort. 

Rom.  In  Noitdl  I  cannot. 

But  I  come  furnifhed  with  what  will  ftop 

The  mouth  of  his  confpiracy  againft  the  life  180 

Of  innocent  Charaloys.     Doe  you  know  this  Character? 

Nou.  fe.     Yes,  'tis  my  fonnes. 

Rom.  May  it  pleafe  your  Lordfhips,  reade  it, 

And  you  fhall  finde  there,  with  what  vehemency 
He  did  follicite  Beaumelle,  how  he  had  got 

A  promife  from  her  to  inioy  his  wifhes,  185 

How  after  he  abiur'd  her  company. 
And  yet,  but  that  'tis  fit  I  fpare  the  dead, 
Like  a  damnd  villaine,  affoone  as  recorded, 
He  brake  that  oath,  to  make  this  manifeft 
Produce  his  bands  and  hers. 

Enter  Aymer,  Florimell,  Bellapert. 

Charmi.  Haue  they  tooke  their  oathes?  190 

Rom.     They  haue ;  and  rather  then  indure  the  racke, 
Confeffe  the  time,  the  meeting,  nay  the  act; 
What  would  you  more  ?  onely  this  matron  made 
A  free  difcouery  to  a  good  end; 

168  fall— fail  (M. 

169  like — omitted  by  G.  &  S. 

170  figne — signs  (S. 

180    againft — 'gainst  (G.,  S. 

184    had — omitted  by  G. 

190    bands — bawds  (C.,  f. 

190,  s.  d.    Enter  Aymer,  etc. — Enter  Officers  zuith  Aymer,  etc.  (G.,  S. 

190    tooke — ta'en  (G. 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY  143 

And  therefore  I  fue  to  the  Court,  fhe  may  not  195 

Be  placed  in  the  blacke  lift  of  the  dehnquents. 

Pont.     I  fee  by  this,  Nouals  reuenge  needs  me. 
And  I  fhall  doe. 

Charmi.  'Tis  euident. 

Noil.  fe.  That  I 

Till  now  was  neuer  wretched,  here's  no  place 
To  curfe  him  or  my  ftars.  Exit  Nouall  fenior. 

Charmi.  A^ord  Charalois,  200 

The  iniurie:  you  haue  fuftain'd,  appeare 
So  worthy  of  the  mercy  of  the  Court, 
That  notwithftanding  you  haue  gone  beyond 
The  letter  of  the  Law,  they  yet  acquit  you. 

Pont.     But  in  Nouall,  I  doe  condemne  him  thus.  205 

Cha.     I  am  flayne. 

Rom.  Can  I  looke  on?    Oh  murderous  wretch. 

Thy  challenge  now  I  anfwere.     So  die  with  him. 

Charmd.     A  guard :  difarme  him.  • 

Rom.  I  yeeld  vp  my  fword 

Vnforc'd.     Oh  Charaloys. 

Cha.  For  fhame,  Romont, 

Mourne  not  for  him  that  dies  as  he  hath  liu'd,  21Q 

Still  conftant  and  vnmou'd :  what's  f alne  vpon  me, 
Is  by  Heauens  will,  becaufe  I  made  my  felfe 
A  fudge  in  my  owne  caufe  without  their  warrant : 
But  he  that  lets  me  know  thus  much  in  death. 
With  all  good  men  forgiue  mee. 

Pont.  I  receiue  215 

The  vengeance,  which  my  loue  not  built  on  vertue, 
Has  made  me  worthy,  worthy  of. 

Charmi.  We  are  taught 

201     iniurie: — C,  f.  read  injuries,  the  colon  in  the  Q.  being  blurred  to 
appear  like  a  broken  s. 
205,  end.    — C,  f.  insert  s.  d. :  Stabs  him. 
206    /  am — I'm  (C,  M. 

207,  end    — C,  f .  insert  s.  d. :  Stabs  Pontalier.    See  Notes 
215,  after  mee.    — C,  f.  insert  s.  d. :  Dies. 
215-217    — lines  in  Q.  are:  /  .  .  .  loue  \  Not  ...of. 
217    worthy,  worthy  of — worthy  of  (C,  M. 
217,  after  of.    — C,  f.  insert  s.  d. :  Dies. 
217    We  are — We're  (C,  M. 


144  THE   FATAL   DOWRY 

By  this  fad  prefident,  how  iuft  foeuer 

Our  reafons  are  to  remedy  our  wrongs, 

We  are  yet  to  leaue  them  to  their  will  and  power,  220 

That  to  that  purpofe  haue  authority. 

For  you,  Romont,  although  in  your  excufe 

You  may  plead,  what  you  did,  was  in  reuenge 

Of  the  dif honour  done  vnto  the  Court : 

Yet  fince  from  vs  you  had  not  warrant  for  it,  225 

We  banifh  you  the  State :  for  thef e,  they  fhall, 

As  they  are  found  guilty  or  innocent. 

Be  fet  free,  or  fuifer  punifhment.  Exeunt  omnes. 


FINIS 


220    We  are — We're  (C,  M. 

227    As — A   (M.,  misprint. 

J228    Be  jet— Or  he  set  (C,  M,,  G.—Be  or  set  (S. 


Firft  Song. 

Fie,  .ceafe  to  wonder, 
Though  you  are  heare  Orpheus  with  his  luory  Lute, 
Moue  Trees  and  Rockes. 
Charme  Bids,  Beafes,  and  men  more  fauage  to  be  mute, 
Weake  foolifh  finger,  here  is  one. 
Would  haue  transformed  i^y  felfe,  to  ftone. 


Second  Song. 

A  Dialogue  betweene  Nouall,  and  Beaumelle. 
Man. 

SEt  Phoebus,  fet,  a  fayrer  funne  doth  rife, 
From  the  bright  Radience  of  my  Mrs.  eyes 
Then  euer  thou  begat' ft.  I  dare  not  looke. 
Each  haire  a  golden  line,  each  word  a  hooke. 
The  more  I  ftriue,  the  more  I  ftill  am  tooke. 
Worn. 

Fayre  feruant,  come,  the  day  thefe  eyes  doe  lend 
To  warme  thy  blood,  thou  doeft  fo  vainely  fpend. 
Come  ftrangled  breath. 
Man. 

These  songs  are  printed  thus  in  an  Appendix  at  the  end  of  the  play  in 
Q.,  G.,  and  the  edition  of  Hartley  Coleridge.  The  First  Song  is  inserted 
at  its  proper  point  in  the  text — II,  i,  after  line  134 — by  C,  M.,  Cunning- 
ham, and  S. ; — so,  too,  the  Second  Song,  after  line  131  of  II,  ii.  The  other 
two  songs  were  omitted  in  C,  and  appear  in  an  appendix  of  vol.  4  of  M., — 
there  wrongly  assigned  (by  D.)  to  the  "passage  over  the  stage"  which 
closes  Act  II.  Gifford  correctly  assigns  them  to  follow  respectively  IV,  ii, 
50;  and  IV,  ii,  62; — where  they  are  printed  in  the  text  of  Cunningham 
and  S. 

Firft  Song— A  DIRGE  (G.,  S. 

Second  Song— A  SONG  BY  AYMER  (G.,  S. 

A  .  .  .  Nouall,  and  Beaumelle. — A  .  .  .  a  Man  and  a  Woman.     (C,  f. 

2^4  — lines  in  Q. :  From  .  .  .  begafft.  \  I  dare  .  .  .  line,  \  Each  word  .  .  . 
hooke,  . 

7  doeft— dost  (C,  f. 

8  Come  ftrangled — Come,  strangle  (M.,  L 

145 


146  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

What  noate  Jo  fweet  as  this, 
That  calles  the  fpirits  to  a  further  hlifje? 
Worn. 

Yet  this  out-fauours  wine,  and  this  Perfume.  lO 

Man. 
Let's  die,  I  languifh,  I  con  fume. 

CITTIZENS  SONG  OF  THE  COURTIER. 

C  Our  tier,  if  thou  needs  zvilt  wiue, 
From  this  lefjon  learne  to  thriue. 
If  thou  match  a  Lady,  that 
Paffes  thee  in  birth  and  ft  ate. 

Let  her  curious  garments  be  '5 

Twice  aboue  thine  owne  degree; 
This  will  draw  great  eyes  vpon  her. 
Get  her  feruants  and  thee  honour. 

COURTIERS  SONG  OF  THE  CITIZEN. 

POore  Citizen,  if  thou  wilt  be 
A  happy  husband,  learne  of  me;  ' 

To  jet  thy  wife  fir  ft  in  thy  fhop, 
A  faire  wife,  a  kinde  wife,  a  fweet  wife,  fets  a  poore  man  vp. 
What  though  thy  fhelues  be  ne're  fo  bare:  5 

A  woman  ftill  is  currant  ware: 
Each  man  will  cheapen^  foe,  and  friend. 
But  whilst  thou  art  at  tother  end. 
What  ere  thou  feeft,  or  what  doft  heare, 

Foole,  haue  no  eye  to,  nor  an  eare;  lo 

A7id  after  fupper  for  her  fake. 
When  thou  haft  fed,  fnort,  though  thou  zvake: 
What  though  the  Gallants  call  thee  momef 
Yet  zvith  thy  lanthorne  light  her  home: 

Then  looke  into  the  town  and  tell,  15 

//  no  fuch  Tradefmen  there  doe  dwell. 

{Citizens  Song)  3  and  4    If  .  .  .  jtate, — printed  as  one  line  in  Q. 

7    feruants — its  u  is  inverted  in  Q. 

(Courtiers  Song)   16     Tradefmen — tradesman   (M. 


NOTES 

[Dramatis  personae.]  Charalois — the  name  Charalois  is  a  corruption 
of  Charolais,  the  Count  of  Charolais  being  the  hereditary  title  of  the 
heir-apparent  of  the  Duchy  of  Burgundy,  for  whom  the  county  of 
Charolais,  an  arriere-fief  of  Burgundy,  was  reserved  as  an  appanage. 
This  domain  had  been  porchased  by  Philip  the  Bold  for  his  son,  John  the 
Fearless. 

I,  i,  4.  argue  me  of — obsolete  construction:  "accuse  me  of."  Cf.  Ray, 
Disc.  II,  V,  213 :  "  Erroneously  argues  Hubert  Thomas  ...  of  a  mistake." 

I,  i,  7.    dif pence  with — give  special  exemption  from.     Cf.  I,  ii,  87. 

I»  i,  Z3-  This  fuch — This  for  this  is  is  a  common  Elizabethan  construc- 
tion. Cf.  "O  this  the  poison  of  deep  grief" — Hamlet,  IV,  v,  76;  "This  a 
good  block"— L^ar,  IV,  vi,  187. 

I,  i,  45.  tooke  vp — borrowed.  Cf.  Shakespeare,  Henry  IV,  Part  H, 
I,  ii,  46:  "if  a  man  is  through  with  them  in  honest  taking  up,  they  stand 
upon  security." 

I,  i,  55-6-  Your  fable  habit,  with  the  hat  and  cloak  .  .  .  haue  power — 
the  details  of  hat,  cloak,  and  ribbons,  interposed  between  subject  and  verb, 
have  attracted  the  latter  into  the  plural,  to  the  violation  of  its  agreement 
with  its   substantive. 

I,  i,  70.    in  that — i.  e.,  in  the  fact  that  justice  had  no  such  guards. 

I,  i.  73-7-  For  the  allusion  to  Cerberus  and  the  fops,  cf.  Virgil's  picture 
of  Aeneas'  journey  to  Hades  (Aeneid,  VI,  417-425):  "Huge  Cerberus 
makes  these  realms  to  resound  with  barking  from  his  tripple  jaws, 
stretched  at  his  enormous  length  in  a  den  that  fronts  the  gate.  To  whom 
the  prophetess,  seeing  his  neck  now  bristle  with  horrid  snakes,  flings  a 
soporific  cake  of  honey  and  medicated  grain.  He,  in  the  mad  rage  of 
hunger,  opening  his  three  mouths,  snatches  the  offered  morsel,  and,  spread 
on  the  ground,  relaxes  his  monstrous  limbs,  and  is  extended  at  vast  length 
over  all  the  cave.  Aeneas,  now  that  the  keeper  [of  Hell]  is  buried  [in 
sleep],  seizes  the  passage  and  swift  overpasses  the  bank  of  that  flood 
whence  there  is  no  return." — Davidson's  trans. 

I>  i,  75-  fertyle  headed — many  headed,  fertyle  is  used  in  the  now 
obsolete  sense  of  abundant. 

I,  i,  92.  fuch,  whofe — for  the  construction,  cf.  Shakespeare :  "  Such  I 
will  have,  whom  I  am  sure  he  knows  not  from  the  enemy." — All's  Well, 
III,  iv,  24. 

I,  i,  99.  men  religious — the  adjective  is  regularly  placed  after  its  noun 
in  Eliz.  Eng.  when  the  substantive  is  unemphatic  and  the  modifier  not  a 
mere  epithet,  but  essential  to  the  sense.     See  Abbott,  S.  G.  §  419. 

I.  i,  137-8. — The  thought  of  these  lines*  is  undeveloped,  the  phrasing 
being  broken  and  disconnected.     It  is  a  scornful  observation  on  the  part 

147 


148  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

of  Romont  that  whether  or  not  Novall  takes  papers  depends  on  how  the 
matter  is  brought  before  him — and  he  is  about  to  add  that  there  is  a  way 
in  which  Charalois  can  manage  to  gain  his  point,  when  he  breaks  off  with 
the  cry,  "  Follow  him  !  "     Conuayance  =  contrivance. 

I,  i,  164.  parchment  toils — snares  in  the  shape  of  documents  upon 
parchment,  such  as  bonds,  mortgages,  etc. 

I,  i,  166.  Luxury — used  here  in  the  modern  sense, — not,  as  more  com- 
monly in  Elizabethan  times,  with  the  meaning,  laciviousness,  lust.  The 
thought  of  the  somewhat  involved  period  which  ends  with  this  line  is, 
that  the  creditors  prayed  only  on  an  occasion  when  they  feared  to  lose 
their  clutch  on  some  rich  spendthrift — on  which  occasion  they  would 
pray  to  the  devil  to  invent  some  new  and  fantastic  pleasure  which  would 
lure  their  victim  back  into  the  toils. 

I,  ii,  II.  Dijon — ^the  scene  of  the  drama, — situated  on  the  western 
border  of  the  fertile  plain  of  Burgundy,  and  at  the  confluence  of  the 
Ouche  and  the  Suzon.  It  was  formerly  the  capital  of  the  province  of 
Burgundy,  the  dukes  of  which  acquired  it  early  in  the  eleventh  century, 
and  took  up  their  residence  there  in  the  thirteenth  century.  For  the 
decoration  of  the  palace  and  other  monuments  built  by  them,  eminent 
artists  were  gathered  from  northern  France  and  Flanders,  and  during 
this  period  the  town  became  one  of  the  great  intellectual  centers  of 
France.  The  union  of  the  duchy  with  the  crown  in  1477  deprived  Dijon 
of  the  splendor  of  the  ducal  court,  but  to  counterbalance  this  loss  it  was 
made  the  capital  of  the  province  and  the  seat  of  a  parlement.  To-day  it 
possesses  a  population  of  some  65,000,  and  is  a  place  of  considerable  im- 
portance. 

I,  ii,  21-3.  Nor  now  .  .  .  that  I  vndertooke,  forfake  it. — The  expression 
is  elliptical,  the  verb  of  the  preceding  period  being  in  the  future  indicative, 
— whereas  here  the  incomplete  verb  is  in  the  conditional  mood.  In  full: 
Nor  now  .  .  .  that  I  undertook,  would  I  forsake  it. 

I,  ii,  56.  determine  of — of  is  the  preposition  in  obs.  usage  which  fol- 
lows determine  used,  as  here,  in  the  sense  of  decide,  come  to  a  judicial 
decision,  come  to  a  decision  on  (upon).     Cf.  IV,  iv,  82. 

I,  ii,  57.     to — in  addition  to. 

I,  ii,  66.  become — modern  editors,  beginning  with  Mason,  read  became; 
but  become  may  be  taken  as  a  variant  form  of  the  past  tense  (or  even  as 
participle  for  having  become,  with  nom.  absolute  construction,  though 
this  is  less  likely). 

I,  ii,  91-2.  May  force  you  .  .  .  plead  at — i.  e.  "  may  cause  your  dismissal 
from  the  bar." 

I,  ii,  107.    purple-coloured — Novall  wears  the  official  red  robe  of  judge. 

I,  ii,  123-4.  the  fubtill  Fox  of  France,  The  politique  Lewis — Louis  XI 
of  France,  an  old  enemy  of  Burgundy. 

I,  ii,  127.  //  that,  etc. — Gradually,  as  the  interrogatives  were  recognized 
as  relatives,  the  force  of  that,  so,  as,  in  "  when  that ",  "  when  so  ",  "  when 
as",  seems  to  have  tended  to  make  the  relative  more  general  and  indefinite; 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY  149 

"who  so"  being  now  nearly   (and  once  quite)   as  indefinite  as  "whoso- 
ever." ...  In  this  sense,  by  analogy,  that  was  attached  to  other  words,  such 
as  "  if  ",  "  though  ",  "  why  ",  etc.— Abbott,  S.  G.  §  2S7. 
Cf.  "If  that  rebellion 

Came  like  itself,  in  base  and  abject  routs." 

Henry  IV,  Part  II,  IV,  i,  32. 
The  same  construction  appears  in  V,  iii,  95. 
I,  ii,  163.     Writ  man — i.  e.,  wrote  himself  down  as  a  man. 
I,  ii,  170.    Granfon,  Morat,  Nancy — the  "  three  memorable  overthrows  " 
which  Charles  the  Bold  suflfered  at  the  hands  of  the  Swiss  cantons  and  Duke 
Rene  of  Loraine.    TheObattle  of  Granson  took  place  March  3,  1476;  that 
of  Morat,  June  22,  1476;  that  of  Nancy,  January  5,  1477.     On  each  occa- 
sion the  army  of  Charles  was  annihilated;  and  finally  at  Nancy  he  was 
himself  slain.     These  defeats  ended  the  power  of  Burgundy. 

I,  ii,  171.  The  warlike  Charloyes — Charles  the  Bold,  the  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy. 

I,  ii,  185.    ///  ayres — noxious  exhalations,  miasma. 
I,  ii,  194-5.     They  are  onely  good  men,  that  pay  what  they  owe. 
2  Cred.    And  jo  they  are. 

I  Cred.  'Tis  the   City  Doctrine. 

Cf.  Shakespeare  in  The  Merchant  of  Venice,  I,  iii,  12  ff . : 
"Shy.    Antonio  is  a  good  man. 

Bass.     Have  you  heard  any  imputation  to  the  contrary? 
Shy.    Ho,  no,  no,  no,  no !  My  meaning  in  saying  he  is  a  good  man  is 
to  have  you  understand  me  that  he  is  sufficient." 

I,  ii,  201.  right — so  in  all  texts.  With  this  word  the  meaning  is  per- 
fectly plain,  but  the  substitution,  in  its  place,  of  weight  would  better  sustain 
the  figure  used  in  the  preceding  line.  Weight  is  a  word  which  it  is  not 
unlikely  the  printer  would  mis-read  from  the  Ms.  as  right. 

I,  ii,  207.  in  your  danger — regularly,  "  in  your  power ",  "  at  your 
mercy  " ;  so  here,  "  in  your  debt*". 

I,  ii,  245.  As — used  here  in  its  demonstrative  meaning,  to  introduce  a 
parenthetical  clause.    Cf.  Abbott,  S.  G.  §  no. 

II,  i,  13.  jits — the  common  Elizabethan  3rd.  person  plural  in  s,  generally 
and  without  warrant  altered  by  modern  editors.  See  Abbott,  S.  G.  §  2>Z3- 
Cf.  keepes,  V,  ii,  37. 

II,  i,  28.    was — monies  is  taken  in  the  collective  sense. 

II,  i,  46.  interd  a  Huely  graue — i.  e.,  entered  a  lively  [living]  grave.  G., 
who  first  prints  it  so,  considers  he  has  made  a  change  in  the  first  word, 
taking  it  in  the  Q.  for  interr'd,  as  does  M.,  who  suggests  in  a  footnote  the 
reading:  enters  alive  the  grave.  But  interd  may  be,  and  is  best,  taken  as 
merely  an  old  spelling  for  enter'd,  naturally  attracted  to  the  i-form  by  the 
presence  of  the  word  interment  in  the  preceding  -line. 

II,  i,  63.  Remember  beft,  forget  not  gratitude — ellipsis  for:  Remember 
best  who  forget  not  gratitude.  Modern  usage  confines  the  omission  of  the 
relative  mostly  to  the  objective.     In  Eliz.  Eng.,  however,  the  nominative 


150  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

relative  was  even  more  frequently  omitted,  especially  when  the  antecedent 
clause  was  emphatic  and  evidently  incomplete,  and  where  the  antecedent  im- 
mediately preceded  the  verb  to  which  the  relative  would  be  subject.     See 
Abbott,  S.  G.,  §  244. 
Cf.  Ill,  i,  134-5;  i,  139;  i,  2>Z2;  IV,  ii,  61. 

II,  i,  65.  viperous — according  to  various  classical  authorities  [e.  g.,  Pliny, 
X,  82],  the  young  of  vipers  eat  their  way  forth  to  light  through  the  bowels  of 
their  dam.  The  figure  here  seems  to  be  somewhat  confused,  as  the  dead 
hero  is  the  son  of  the  country,  his  mother,  who  devours  him.  The  thought, 
perhaps,  in  the  mind  of  the  dramatist,  albeit  ill-expressed,  was  that  the 
mother-country  owed  her  existence  to  her  son,  and,  viper-like  had  devoured 
the  author  of  her  life. 

II,  i,  66.  eate — owing  to  the  tendency  to  drop  the  inflectional  ending  -en, 
the  Elizabethans  frequently  used  the  curtailed  forms  of  past  participles, 
which  are  common  in  Early  English :  "  I  have  spoke,  forgot,  writ,  chid," 
etc. — Abbott,  S.  G.,  §  343.  Cf.  broke,  II,  ii,  27;  jpoke,  III,  i,  3;  hegot, 
IV,  iv,  154;  170. 

II,  i,  83.  golden  calf — the  figure,  from  its  immediate  application  to  a 
dolt  of  great  wealth,  is  transferred  to  the  false  god  whom  the  children  of 
Israel  worshipped  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Sinai. 

II,  i,  93-4.  Would  they  not  fo,  etc. — the  Q.  reading  is  to  be  preferred 
to  either  of  the  modern  emendations.  It  is  probably  in  the  sense  of 
"Would  they  no  more  but  so?",  with  the  ensuing  declaration  that  in  that 
case  they  would  keep  their  tears  to  stop  (fill?)  bottles  (probably  meaning 
lachrimatories  or  phials  used  in  ancient  times  for  the  preservation  of  tears, 
of  mourning). 

II,  i,  98-9.  Y'are  ne're  content.  Crying  nor  laughing — The  meaning  is, 
of  course :  "  You  are  never  content  with  us,  whether  we  are  crying  or 
laughing." 
II,  i,  100.  Both  with  a  birth — i.  e.,  both  together,  at  the  same  time. 
II,  i,  137.  Burmudas — The  Bermuda  islands,  known  only  through  the 
tales  of  early  navigators  who  suffered  shipwreck  there,  enjoyed  a  most 
unsavory  reputation  in  Elizabethan  times,  as  being  the  seat  of.  continual 
tempests,  and  the  surrounding  waters  "  a  hellish  sea  for  thunder,  lightning, 
and  storms."  Cf.  Shakespeare,.  T/i^  Tempest,  I,  ii,  269:  "the  still-vexed 
Bermoothes."  They  were  said  to  be  enchanted,  and  inhabited  by  witches 
and  devils.  They  were  made  famous  by  the  shipwreck  there  in  1609  of 
Sir  George  Somers ;  the  following  year  one  of  his  party,  Sil.  Jordan,  pub- 
lished A  Discovery  of  the  Bermudas,  otherwise  called  the  Isle  of  Devils. 
Field  has  another  reference  to  "  the  Barmuthoes  "  in  Amends  for  Ladies, 
III,  iv;  but  there  it  is  not  clear  whether  he  means  the  islands  or  certain 
narrow  passages  north  of  Covent  Garden,  which  went  by  the  slang  name 
of  "  the  Bermudas  "  or  "  the  Streights."  It  is  in  this  latter  sense  that  the 
word  is  used  in  Jonson's  The  Devil  is  an  Ass,  II,  i. 

II,  i,  139.  Exact  the  ftrictneffe — i.  e.,  require  a  strict  enforcement  of 
the  sentence  which  limits  Charalois  to  the  confines  of  the  prison. 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY  151 

II,  i,  144.  vfurers  relief,  etc. — a  rather  awkward  expression,  so  phrased 
for  the  sake  of  the  end-scene  rhyme.  The  thought  seems  to  be:  "The 
relief  which  usurers  have  to  offer  mourns,  if  the  debtors  have  (exhibit) 
too  much  grief."     Charalois'  remark  is,  of  course,  ironical. 

II,  ii,  ID.  electuary — a  medicinal  conserve  or  paste,  consisting  of  a  pow- 
der or  some  other  ingredient  mixed  with  honey,  preserve,  or  syrup  of 
some  other  kind.  Beaumelle  means  that  Florimal  is  the  medicine  and 
Bellapert  the  sweet  which  makes  it  palatable. 

II,  ii,  17.  jerue — G.  and  S.  read  served,  which  is  certainly  correct. 
Not  only  is  there  nothijag  throughout  the  play  to  suggest  that  Beaumelle's 
mother  is  still  alive,  but  she  herself  has  just  spoken  of  "you  two  my 
women"  (1.  11). 

II,  ii,  18.  a  peepe  out — a  "  pip  "  [old  spelling  peepe]  is  one  of  the  spots 
on  playing  cards,  dice,  or  dominoes.  The  allusion  is  to  a  game  of  cards 
called  "  one-and-thirty  " ;  thirty-two  is  a  pip  too  many. 

II,  ii,  21-2.  the  mother  of  the  maydes — a  title  properly  applied  to  the 
head  of  the  maids  of  honour  in  a  Royal  household. 

II,  ii,  22.  mortifie — there  is  a  significant  ambiguity  to  the  word  Bella- 
pert  uses.  It  means  "bring  into  subjection,"  "render  dead  to  the  world 
and  the  flesh;"  it  formerly  had  also  a  baleful  meaning:  "to  kill;"  "to 
destroy  the  vitality,  vigor,  or  activity  of." 

II,  ii,  32.  vanuahle,  to  make  you  thus — valuable  is  used  in  its  generic 
sense  of  value-able,  of  sufficient  value. 

II,  ii,  71.  turn'd  in  her  varieties — G.,  S.  read:  trimm'd  in  her  varieties 
— i.  e.,  "decked  in  her  varieties  [varied  aspects]."  But  adherence  to  the 
Q.  is  possible,  with  the  meaning,  "  fashioned  in  her  varieties," 

II,  ii,  82.  walkes  not  vnder  a  weede — i.  e.,  "  wears  not  a  garment,"  "  is 
not  in  existence." 

II,  ii,  88.  Tiffue — a  rich  kind  of  cloth,  often  interwoven  with  gold  or 
silver.     So  again  in  II,  ii,  175. 

II,  ii,  89.  a  three-leg'd  lord — the  meaning  is  that  Young  Novall  cannot 
independently  "  stand  upon  his  own  legs,"  but  requires  the  triple  support 
of  himself,  Liladam,  and  Aymer. 

II,  ii,  96.  muficke  houfe — a  public  hall  or  saloon  for  musical  per- 
formances. 

II,  ii,  99-100.  in  the  Galley  foyft,  etc. — a  Galley-foist  was  a  state  barge, 
especially  that  of  the  Lord  Mayor  of  London.  This,  however,  can  hardly 
be  the  meaning  of  the  word  here,  used  as  it  is  in  connection  with  Bullion, 
which  were  trunk-hose,  puffed  out  at  the  upper  part,  in  several  folds;  and 
with  Quirpo,  a  variant  of  cuerpo — i.  e.,  in  undress.  "  Galley- foist "  may 
be  the  name  of  some  dress  of  the  period,  so-called  for  its  resemblance  to 
the  gaily  bedecked  Mayor's-barge.  But  it  is  not  unlikely,  as  Mason  sug- 
gests, that  The  Galley-foist  and  The  Bullion  were  the  names  of  taverns  of 
that  day;  or  else  of  houses  of  public  resort  for  some  kind  of  amusement. 

II,  ii,  104.  fkip — so  in  all  texts.  But  Field  has  elsewhere  (Woman  is 
a  Weathercock,  II,  i.)  :  "  and  then  my  lord  .  .  .  casts  a  suit  every  quarter. 


152  THE    FATAL    DOWRY 

which  I  slip  into."  It  is  probable  that  the  word  was  the  same  in  both 
passages, — though  whether  skip  or  slip  I  have  no  means  of  determining. 

II,  ii,  119.  St  Omers — more  properly,  St.  Omer,  a  town  of  northern 
France.  A  College  of  Jesuits  was  located  there,  and  the  point  of  Novall's 
comparison  is  perhaps  an  allusion  to  the  mean  appearance  of  Jesuit  spies 
who  would  come  from  thence  to  England  on  some  pretext,  such  as  to  see 
their  friends  during  the  Christmas  season. 

II,  ii,  122.  ly'n  perdieu — "  to  lie  perdu  "  is  properly  a  military  term  for, 
"  to  be  placed  as  a  sentinel  or  outpost,"  especially  in  an  exposed  position. 
Ly'n  is  one  of  the  many  obsolete  forms  of  the  past  participle  of  the  verb 
"  to  lie." 

II,  ii,  125.  tye  my  hand — i.  e.,  tie  the  ribbon-strings  which  depended 
from  the  sleeve  over  the  hand. 

II,  ii,  163.     -flight  neglect — contemptuous  disrespect. 

II,  ii,  174.  hile — all  editors  after  the  Q.  read  hoil.  Bile  was  an  old 
spelling  for  hoil;  but  in  the  other  sense,  one  of  the  "  four  humours  "  of, 
medieval  physiology,  the  passage  is  perfectly  clear,  and  the  figure  perhaps 
even  more  effective. 

II,  ii,  186.  eager  relifh — acrid  taste.  The  figure  is  that  the  law  in  itself 
is  often  like  a  sharp  and  bitter  flavor,  but  that  a  good  judge  will  sweeten 
this. 

II,  ii,  250  s.  d.  Drawes  a  Curtayne — the  curtain  of  the  alcove  or  back- 
stage, within  which  was  placed  the  "  treasure,"  thus  to  be  revealed. 

II,  ii,  298.  in  which  yours — i.  e.,  "because  of  the  fact  of  her  being 
yours." 

II,  ii,  301.  for  poofie  and  worthleffe  I — /  for  me,  like  other  irregulari- 
ties in  pronominal  inflection,  was  not  infrequent  in  Elizabethan  times.  Cf. 
Abbott,  S.  G.,  §  205. 

II,  ii,  326.  Curtius-like — like  Marcus  Curtius,  legendary  hero  of  ancient 
Rome.     See  Livy,  vii,  6. 

II,  ii,  final  s.  d.  while  the  Act  is  playing — i.  e.,  while  the  interlude  music 
is  played,  at  the  close  of  the  Act. 

III,  i,    18.     relifh — a    trace    or    tinge    of    some    quality,    a    suggestion. 
— In  III,  i,  20:  a  flavor;  or,  if  read  with  the  Q.'s  punctuation,  a  verb: 

give  a  relish.  It  appears  preferable,  however,  to  take  the  passage  as  punc- 
tuated by  G.,  S.,  which  makes  relifh  a  noun. 

Ill,  i,  29.     take  me  with  you — understand  me. 

Ill,  i,  2)7-  fudden — adv.  for  suddenly.  The  -ly  suffix  was  frequently 
omitted  in  Elizabethan  times. 

Ill,  i,  45.  Such  as  are  faine,  etc. — the  connection  goes  back  to  1.  42, 
Bellapert  taking  up  again  the  thread  of  her  remark  which  Novall's  objec- 
tion and  her  summary  answer  thereto  had  broken  in  upon. 

Ill,  i,  120.  Chriftian — probably  used  here  in  the  colloq.  sense  of :  a 
human  being,  as  distinguished  from  a  brute ;  a  "  decent "  or  "  respectable  " 
person.  Cf.  Shakespeare,  Twelfth  Night,  1,  iii,  89:  "  Methinks  ...  I  have 
no  more  wit  than  a  Christian,  or  an  ordinary  man  has." 


THE    FATAL    DOWRY  153 

III,  i,  122.  The  entertaiment  of  your  vifitation — i.  e.,  the  entertain- 
ment which  your  visit  received. 

Ill,  i,  123.     on   [old  spelling  for  one] — i.  e.,  a  visitation. 

Ill,  i,  126.  Muske-cat — the  civet-cat;  applied  as  a  term  of  contempt  to 
a  fop,  as  being  a  person  perfumed  with  musk. 

Ill,  i,  139.  there  is  now  f peaks  to  you — G.,  S.  omit  is,  at  the  same  time 
clearing  the  construction  and  securing  a  more  regular  metre.  The  Q. 
reading,  however,  is  perfectly  possible,  as  an  ellipsis,  by  omission  of  the 
subject  relative,  for,  there  is  that  now  speaks  to  you  [i.  e.,  there  is  now 
speaking  to  you],  or  even,  by  a  change  of  punctuation,  there  is — now 
speaks   to   you — ,   etc.  '" 

III,  i,  148.  As  Caefar,  did  he  Hue,  could  not  except  at — see  Plutarch's 
Life  of  Julius  Caesar,  Chapters  9  &  10,  wherein  it  is  narrated  how  Caesar 
divorced  his  wife,  Pompeia,  when  scandal  assailed  her  name,  although  he 
denied  any  knowledge  as  to  her  guilt;  "'Because'  said  he,  'I  would  have 
the  chastity  of  my  wife  clear  even  of  suspicion.' " 

III,  i,  148.     except  at — take  exception  at. 

Ill,  i,  159.  pointed — all  editors  after  the  Q.  read  painted,  an  absolutely 
unnecessary  and  unwarranted  emendation.  Pointed  means  "  fitted  or  fur- 
nished with  tagged  points  or  laces ;"  "  wearing  points ;"  "  laced."  Cf. 
Maurice  Hewlett's  novel.  The  Queen's  Quair,  p.  83 :  "  saucy  young  men, 
trunked,  puffed,  pointed,  trussed  and  doubleted."  Huloet  in  his  Dictionary 
(1552)  has:  "  Poynted,  or  tyed  with  poynts,  ligulatus." 

Ill,  i,  167.     This  pretty  rag — i.  e.,  the  *'  clout "  mentioned  in  II,  ii,  123. 

Ill,  i,  173.     in  fpite  of — in  scorn  of,  in  defiance  of. 

Ill,  i,  184.  thy — so  the  Q.  All  later  editors  read  this.  It  is  not  impos- 
sible, of  course,  that  Romont  should  begin  an  oath  "  By  thy  hand,"  and 
Beaumelle  flash  back  at  him  "  And  sword,"  transferring  the  thy  from  her- 
self to  him.  But  Romont  would  be  more  likely  to  swear  by  his  own  hand 
than  by  Beaumelle's. 

Ill,  i,  188.  caft  fuburb  whores — prostitutes  who  had  been  cashiered 
from  service.     Houses  of  ill-fame  were  customarily  located  in  the  suburbs. 

Ill,  i,  191.    legion — i.  e.,  of  evil  spirits.     Cf.  Mark,  v,  9. 

Ill,  i,  193.  home-mad — the  word  was  originally  applied  to  horned 
beasts,  in  the  sense:  "enraged  so  as  to  horn  any  one;"  hence  of  persons: 
"  stark  mad,"  "  mad  with  rage,"  "  furious."  By  word-play  it  acquires  its 
sense  in  the  present  passage,  "mad  with  rage  at  having  been  made  a 
cuckold." 

Ill,  i,  202.  yellow— this  color  was  regarded  as  a  token  or  symbol  of 
jealousy. 

Ill,  i,  211.  Carted — carried  in  a  cart  through  the  streets,  by  way  of 
punishment  or  public  exposure  (especially  as  the  punishment  of  a  bawd). 

Ill,  i,  261.    in  diftance — within  reach,  in  striking  distance. 

Ill,  i,  331.  as  it  would  tire — as  appears  to  be  used  for  as  if;  in  reality 
the  if  is  implied  in  the  (conditional)  subjunctive.— Abbott,  S.  G.,  §  107. 

Ill,  i,  331.  a  beadle — it  was  one  of  the  duties  of  a  beadle  to  whip  petty 
offenders. 


154  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

III,  i,  352.  So  I  not  heard  them — Abbott  explains  this  construction,  not 
uncommon  in  the  Elizabethan  period,  as  an  omission  of  the  auxiliary  verb 
"do"  (S.  G.  §  305)-  But  here  the  main  verb  is  heard,  whereas,  according 
to  his  explanation,  grammar  would  require  hear.  May  not  the  construc- 
tion be  better  taken  as  a  simple,  though  to  our  ears  cumbrous,  inversion 
of.  So  I  heard  them  not? 

Ill,  i,  366.     caufe — affair,  business — so  also  in  III,  i,  ^77- 

III,  i,  388.  Calenture — a  disease  incident  to  sailors  within  the  tropics; 
a  burning  fever. 

Ill,  i,  428-9.  flegme  .  .  .  choller — in  the  old  physiologies  the  predom- 
inance of  the  "humour,  phlegm,"  was  held  to  cause  constitutional  indolence 
or  apathy, — the  predominance  of  "  choler  "  to  cause  irascibility. 

Ill,  i,  432.  'em — grammatical  precision  would  require  him,  as  is  sub- 
stituted in  M.,  f.  In  Field's  rapid,  loose  style,  however,  a  change  of  con- 
struction in  mid-sentence  is  not  improbable,  and  the  Q.  reading  may  very 
well  reproduce  accurately  what  he  wrote. 

Ill,  i,  441.  thou  curious  impertinent — the  epithet  is  from  The  Curious 
Impertinent  of  Cervantes,  a  story  imbedded  in  Don  Quixote,  Part  I. 

Ill,  i,  463.    /  not  accufe — cf.  note  on  1.  354. 

Ill,  i,  467.  Ere  Hue — Ere  I  should  live  is  required  in  full  by  strict 
grammar,  but  Field's  verse  is  frequently  elliptical.  Gifford's  emendation 
to  lived  for  the  sake  of  grammatical  regularity,  which  is  followed  by  all 
later  editors,  is  unwarranted. 

Ill,  i,  467.  mens  marginall  fingers — the  figure  is  an  allusion  to  the 
ancient  custom  of  placing  an  index  hand  in  the  margin  of  books,  to  direct 
the  reader's  attention  to  a  striking  passage.  So  does  Romont  picture  men's 
fingers  pointing  to  the  story  of  Charalois  as  a  noteworthy  and  lanjentable 
thing.     Cf.  IV,  i,  56. 

III,  i,  469-470.  An  Emperour  put  away  his  wife  for  touching  Another 
mam — The  source  of  this  allusion  is  not  apparent.  Can  it  be  a  perversion 
in  the  mind  of  Field  of  the  story  of  Caesar's  divorce  of  his  wife,  to  which 
Massinger  has  already  referred  above    (1.   148)  ? 

IV,  i,  3.     a  flaxe — the  flax  wick  of  a  lamp  or  candle. 

IV,  i,  3.  a  red  headed  womans  chamber — Since  early  times  red-haired 
individuals  have  been  supposed  to  emit  an  emanation  having  a  powerful 
sexually  exciting  influence.  In  the  Romance  countries,  France  and  Italy, 
this  belief  is  universally  diffused. — I  wan  Block:  The  Sexual  Life  of  our 
Time — ^transl.  by  Eden  Paul — p.  622. 

Cf .  also  Gabrielle  D'Annunzio :  //  Piacere,  p.  90 : 

"'Have  you  noticed  the  armpits  of  Madame  Chrysoloras?     Look!'" 

"  The  Duke  di  Beffi  indicated  a  dancer,  who  had  upon  her  brow,  white 
as  a  marble  of  Luni,  a  firebrand  of  red  tresses,  like  a  priestess  of  Alma 
Tadema.  Her  bodice  was  fastened  on  the  shoulders  by  mere  ribbons, 
and  there  were  revealed  beneath  the  armpits  two  luxuriant  tufts  of  reid 
hair. 

"  Bomminaco  began  to  discourse  upon  the  peculiar  odour  which  red- 
haired  women  have." 


THE    FATAL    DOWRY  155 

IV,  i,  13.  Cell — so  in  the  Q.  and  all  later  texts.  Yet  the  word  is  utterly 
unsatisfactory  to  the  sense  of  the  passage;  it  should  almost  certainly  be 
coil — i.  e.,  tumult,  confusion,  fuss,  ado.  Cf.  Field  in  Amends  for  Ladies, 
II,  iv :  "  Here's  a  coil  with  a  lord  and  his  sister." 

IV,  i,  23.    a  lace — a  trimming  of  lace. 

IV,  i,  27.  pickadille — the  expansive  collar  fashionable  in  the  early  part 
of  the  seventeenth  century. 

IV,  i,  '^.    in  puncto — in  point;  i.  e.,  in  proper  condition,  in  order. 

IV,  i,  32.  Jacobs  jtaffc — an  instrument  formerly  used  for  measuring 
the  altitude  of  the  sun;  gucross-staff. 

IV,  i,  Z2.  Ephimerides — a  table  showing  the  positions  of  a  heavenly 
body  for  a  series  of  successive  days. 

IV,  i,  39-40.  if  he  would  hut  cut  the  coate  according  to  the  cloth  ftill — 
"  to  cut  one's  coat  after  one's  cloth  "  was :  "  to  adapt  one's  self  to  circum- 
stances ;"  "  to  measure  expense  by  income."  The  point  of  its  employment 
here  is  not  plain;  it  is  doubtful  if  anything  were  very  clear  in  Field's  own 
mind,  who  was  merely  trying  to  hit  off  an  epigrammatical  phrase.  Per- 
haps, "  rpake  the  coat  match  the  man." 

IV,  i,  72.  Narcif jus-like — like  Narcissus,  in  classic  myth.  See  Ovid, 
Meta.,  iii,  341-510. 

IV,  i,  72.  fhould — G.,  f.  read  shouldst,  but  the  breach  of  agreement 
between  subject  and  verb  is  to  be  explained  by  the  attraction  of  the  verb 
to  the  third  person  by  the  interposed  Narcijfus-like ;  just  as  four  lines 
further  on  we  find  fhouldst  for  should,  because  of  the  similar  intrusion 
between  subject  and  verb  of  (but  thy  felfe  fweete  Lord). 

IV,  i,  92.  a  Barber  Surgeon — formerly  the  barber  was  also  a  regular 
practitioner  in  surgery  and  dentistry.  Cf.  Beaumont  &  Fletcher,  The 
Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle,  III,  iv. 

IV,  i,  96.  ouerthrowne — M.,  f.  read  overflown,  i.  e.,  become  excessive 
or  inordinate;  so  full  that  the  contents  run  over  the  brim.  The  reading 
of  the  Q.,  however,  is  quite  intelligible, — taking  overthrown  in  the  sense 
of  thrown  too  strongly. 

IV,  i,  135.  Colbran — more  properly  Colbrand  or  Collebrand,  a  wicked 
giant  in  the  medieval  romance  of  Guy  of  Warwick.  He  is  the  champion 
of  the  invading  King  of  Denmark,  who  challenges  the  English  King, 
Athelstan,  to  produce  a  knight  who  can  vanquish  Colbrand,  or  to  yield  as 
his  vassal.  In  this  hour  of  need  Guy  appears,  fights  with  the  giant,  and 
kills  him. 

IV,  i,  137.  hee'l  make  fome  of  you  fmoake, — i.  e.,  "  make  some  of  you 
suffer."  Cf.  Beaumont  &  Fletcher,  The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle,  I, 
ii,  136:  "I'll  make  some  of  'em  smoke  for't;"  and  Shakespeare,  Titus 
Andronicus,  IV,  iii,  11 1:  "Or  some  of  you  shall  smoke  for  it  in  Rome." 

IV,  i,  138.  a  Confort — "  In  the  author's  age,  the  taverns  were  infested 
with  itinerant  bands  of  musicians,  each  of  which  (jointly  and  individually) 
was  called  a  noise  or  consort:  these  were  sometimes  invited  to  play  for  the 
company,  but  seem  more  frequently  to  have  thrust  themselves,  unasked. 


156  THE    FATAL    DOWRY 

into  it,  with  an  offer  of  their  services :  their  intrusion  was  usually  prefaced 
with,  'By  your  leave,  gentlemen,  will  you  hear  any  music?'" — Gifford. 

IV,  i,  145.  of — formerly  sometimes  substituted,  as  here,  for  on  in  col- 
loquial usage.     So  also  on  for  of,  as  in  1,  148.     Cf.  also  1.  182, 

IV,  i,  197-8.  'Us  Fairies  treafure  Which  but  reueaVd  brings  on  the 
blabbers  mine. — To  confide  in  any  one  about  a  fairy's  gift  rendered  it 
void,  according  to  popular  tradition,  and  drew  down  the  fairy  giver's 
anger.  In  instance,  see  John  Aubrey's  Remains  (Reprinted  in  Publica- 
tions of  the  Folk-Lore  Society,  vol.  IV,  p.  102)  :  "  Not  far  from  Sir 
Bennet  Hoskyns,  there  was  a  labouring  man,  that  rose  up  early  every  day 
to  go  to  worke;  who  for  a  good  while  many  dayes  together  found  a  nine- 
pence  in  the  way  that  he  went.  His  wife  wondering  how  he  came  by  so 
much  money,  was  afraid  he  gott  it  not  honestlye;  at  last  he  told  her,  and 
afterwards  he  never  found  any  more." 

There  are  numerous  literary  allusions  to  this  superstition:  e.  g.,  Shake- 
speare, The  Winter's  Tale,  III,  iii,  127,  ff. :  "This  is  fairy  gold,  boy;  and 
'twill  prove  so.  Up  with't,  keep  it  close.  .  .  .  We  are  lucky,  boy;  and  to  be 
so  still  requires  nothing  but  secrecy." 

And  Field  himself  in  Woman  is  a  Weathercock,  I,  i : 
"  I  see  you  labour  with  some  serious  thing. 
And  think  (like  fairy's  treasure)  to  reveal  it. 
Will  cause  it  vanish." 

IV,  i,  210-1.  louers  periury,  etc. — that  Jove  laughed  at  and  overlooked 
lovers'  perjuries  was  a  familiar  proverb.  Cf.  Massinger,  The  Parliament 
of  Love,  C-G.  192  a:  "Jupiter  and  Venus  smile  At  lovers'  perjuries;"  and 
Shakespeare,  Romeo  and  Juliet,  II,  ii,  92:  "at  lovers'  perjuries.  They  say, 
Jove  laughs."  The  saying  goes  back  to  Ovid's  Art  of  Love,  book  I ; — as 
Marlowe  has  translated  it: 

"  For  Jove  himself  sits  in  the  azure  skies, 
And  laughs  below  at  lovers'  perjuries." 

IV,  ii,  71.  On  all  aduantage  take  thy  life — i.  e.,  "  Taking  every  ad- 
vantage of  you,  kill  you." 

IV,  ii,  84.  Such  whofe  bloods  wrongs,  or  wrong  done  to  themfelues — 
the  Q.'s  regular  omission  of  the  possessive  apostrophe  has  in  this  instance 
confused  later  editors  in  their  understanding  of  the  passage.  We  would 
write  blood's, — with  the  meaning :  "  Those  whom  wrongs  to  kindred  or  to 
themselves,"  etc. 

IV,  iii,  12.  fo — there  is  no  direct  antecedent,  but  one  is  easily  under- 
standable from  the  general  sense  of  what  precedes ;  to  be  fo — i.  e.,  "  as 
you  were  in  thankfulness  to  the  General." 

IV,  iv,  10.  it — another  case  of  a  pronoun  with  antecedent  merely  im- 
plied in  the  general  sense  of  what  precedes;  i7  =  "the  fact  that  I  am  not 
worthy  the  looking  on,  but  only,"  etc. 

IV,  iv,  30.  fuch  defence — i.  e.,  "  the  defence  of  such  a  one."  Such  = 
qualis. 

IV,  iv,  66.     To  this — i.  e.,  to  tears. 


THE    FATAL    DOWRY  157 

IV,  iv,  70.  thoje  fam'd  matroncs — cf.  Massinger  in  The  Virgin  Martyr, 
C-G.  33  a : 

"  You  will  rise  up  with  reverence,  and  no  more, 
As  things  unworthy  of  your  thoughts,  remember 
What  the  canonized  Spartan  ladies  were. 
Which  lying  Greece   so  boasts  of.    Your  own   matrons, 
Your  Roman  dames,  whose  figures  you  yet  keep 
As  holy  relics,  in  her  history 
Will  find  a  second  urn :  Gracchus'  Cornelia, 
Paulina,  that  in  ^ath  desired  to  follow 
Her  husband  Seneca,  nor  Brutus'  Portia, 
That  swallowed  burning  coals  to  overtake  him. 
Though  all  their  several  worths  were  given  to  one, 
With  this  is  to  be  mention'd." 

IV,  iv,  112,     on  it — i.  e.,  "on  what  you  say." 

IV,  iv,  156.  he — "be"  expresses  more  doubt  than  "is"  after  a  verb  of 
thinking.    Cf.  Abbott,  S.  G.,  §  299. 

V,  i,  5.     lay  me  vp — imprison  me. 

V,  i,  7.  varlets — the  name  given  to  city  bailiffs  or  sergeants.  Perhaps 
here,  however,  it  is  applied  merely  as  a  term  of  abuse. 

V,  i,  9.  Innes  of  court  man — a  member  of  one  of  the  four  Inns  of 
Court  (The  Inner  Temple,  The  Middle  Temple,  Lincoln's  Inn,  and  Gray's 
Inn),  legal  societies  which  served  for  the  Elizabethan  the  function  which 
our  law-schools  perform  to-day.  Overbury  says  of  the  Inns  of  Court 
Man,  in  his  Characters:  "  Hee  is  distinguished  from  a  scholler  by  a  pair 
of  silk-stockings,  and  a  beaver  hat,  which  make  him  contemn  a  scholler 
as  much  as  a  scholler  doth  a  school-master.  ...  He  is  as  far  behind  a 
courtier  in  his  fashion,  as  a  scholler  is  behind  him.  .  .  .  He  laughs  at  every 
man  whose  band  sits  not  well,  or  that  hath  not  a  faire  shoo-tie,  and  he  is 
ashamed  to  be  seen  in  any  mans  company  that  weares  not  his  clothes  well. 
His  very  essence  he  placeth  in  his  outside.  .  .  .  You  shall  never  see  him 
melancholy,  but  when  he  wants  a  new  suit,  or   feares  a  sergeant.  .  .  ." 

V,  i,  13.     coming  forth — appearance  in  court,  or  from  prison. 

V,  i,  28.  manchets — small  loaves  or  rolls  of  the  finest  wheaten  bread. 
There  seems  to  have  been  a  commonplace  concerning  the  huge  quantities 
of  bread  devoured  by  tailors.     Cf.  1.  88  below,  and  Note. 

V,  i,  31.  leaue  fwordmen — i.  e.,  swordmen  (swaggering  ruffians  who 
claim  the  profession  of  arms)  on  leave.  It  is  possible,  however,  that 
leaue  is  a  misprint  (by  inversion  of  a  letter)  for  /^an^  =  hungry. 

V,  i,  83.  hangers — not  "short-swords",  as  in  1.  31,  but  here  "pend- 
ants", perhaps  a  part  of  the  hat-band  hanging  loose,  or  else  loops  or 
straps  on  the  swordbelt,  often  richly  ornamented,  from  which  the  sword 
was  hung.    Cf.  Shakespeare,  Hamlet,  V,  ii,  157-167. 

V,  i,  83.  Hell — a  place  under  a  tailor's  shop-board,  in  which  shreds  or 
pieces  of  cloth,  cut  off  in  the  process  of  cutting  clothes,  are  thrown,  and 
looked  upon  as  perquisites.     Cf.  Overbury's  Characters,  A  Taylor:  "  Hee 


158  THE    FATAL    DOWRY 

differeth  altogether  from  God;  for  with  him  the  best  pieces  are  still 
marked  out  for  damnation,  and  without  hope  of  recovery  shall  be  cast 
down  into  hell." 

V,   i,  88.     Our  hreakefajts  famous  for  the  buttred  loaucs — Cf.   above 
I.  28,  and  Note ;  also  Glapthorne's  Wit  in  a  Constable,  V,  i : 
"  as  easily  as  a  Taylor 
Would  do  six  hot  loaves  in  a  morning  fasting, 
And  yet  dine  after." 

V,  i,  90.  vfe  a  confciencc — show  or  feel  compunction ;  be  tender- 
hearted. 

V,  i,  91.  hall — a  house  or  building  belonging  to  a  guild  or  fraternity 
of  merchants  or  tradesmen.  At  such  places  the  business  of  the  respective 
guilds  was  transacted ;  and  in  some  instances  they  served  as  the  market- 
houses  for  the  sale  of  the  goods  of  the  associated  members. 

V,  i,  97.    compleate  Mounfieur — perfect  gentleman. 

V,  i,  102.  panto  fie — slipper;  here  used  figuratively  f  or  :  the  shoe-maker's 
profession. 

V,  ii,  27.  a  barbarous  Sythian — Cf.  Purchas'  Pilgrimage  (ed.  1613,  p. 
Z2>Z)  '■  "  They  [The  Scythians]  cut  off  the  noses  of  men,  and  imprinted 
pictures  in  the  flesh  of  women,  whom  they  overcame :  and  generally  their 
customes  of  warre  were  bloudie:  what  man  soever  the  Scythian  first 
taketh,  he  drinketh  his  bloud :  he  offereth  to  the  King  all  the  heads  of  the 
men  he  hath  slaine  in  battell :  otherwise  he  may  not  share  in  the  spoile : 
the  skinnes  of  their  crownes  flaid  off,  they  hang  at  their  horse  bridles : 
their  skinnes  they  use  to  flay  for  napkins  and  other  uses,  and  some  for 
cloathing.  .  .  .  These  customes  were  generall  to  the  Scythians  of  Europe 
and  Asia  (for  which  cause  Scytharum  facinora  patrare,  grew  into  a  pro- 
verbe  of  immane  crueltie,  and  their  Land  was  justly  called  Barbarous)." 

V,  ii,  40.  made  no  homes  at  me — to  "make  horns"  at  any  one  was  the 
common  method  of  taunting  one  with  having  horns, — i.  e.,  with  being  a 
cuckold. 

V,  ii,  51.     made  vp  with — set  with  the  expression  of. 

V,  ii,  102.     by  pieces — in  part. 

V,  iii,  8. — Charmi's  speech  is  addressed  to  Charalois,  as  is  that  of  Du 
Croy  which  follows  it. 

V,  iii,  18  ff.— M.,  f.  insert  when  after  that  of  1.  18.  This  is  probably 
the  correct  reading.  It  would  be  possible,  however,  to  let  the  line  stand 
without  alteration,  if  the  that  of  I.  20  be  taken  as  coordinate  with  the  that 
of  I.  18,  introducing  a  second  clause  depending  on  am  forry  (instead  of 
correlative  with  fo  to  introduce  a  result-clause).  With  this  reading,  left 
(1.  22)  would  be  taken  as  an  ellipsis  for  being  left;  with  the  emended 
reading,  for  was  left.  Though  the  construction  is  in  doubt,  the  sense  is 
easy. 

V,  iii,  22.  vndermine—an  object,  it,  is  understood,— i.  e.,  the  building 
of  my  life. 

V,  iii,  34.  her — its  was  rare  in  Elizabethan  usage.  Cf.  Abbott,  S.  G., 
§§  228,  229. 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY  159 

V,  iii,  46.  compaffion  of — former  obsolete  construction  for  "  com- 
passion for."  Cf.  Sliakespeare,  Henry  VI,  Part  /,  IV,  i,  56;  "  Mov'd 
with  compassion  of  my  country's  wreck." 

V,  iii,  59.  motion — ^C,  f.  read  motion's, — an  uncalled-for  emendation, 
since  ellipsis  of  is  was  not  infrequent.  Cf.  Shakespeare,  Henry  V,  IV,  i, 
197:  "'Tis  certain,  every  man  that  dies  ill,  the  ill  [is]  upon  his  own  head." 

V,  iii,  93.  and  yet  the  fault  kept  from  me — loose  construction,  not 
easily  parsed,  though  the  sense  is  clear. 

V,  iii,  98.  As  ...  to  vndergoe — again  a  loose  construction.  It  should 
be,  properly:  That  .  .  .  h^would  undergo,  etc. 

V,  iii,  107-9.  ^ike  the  fatall  gold,  etc. — In  this  passage  the  two  leaders 
of  the  Gauls  known  to  history  by  the  same  name  appear  to  be  confounded 
—  (i)  :  Brennus,  who  sacked  Rome  in  390  B.  C,  and  consented  to  with- 
draw after  receiving  a  large  ransom  of  gold ; — and  (2)  :  Brennus,  who 
led  the  irruption  of  the  Gauls  into  Greece  in  the  second  century  B.  C., 
and  attempted  to  despoil  Delphi  of  its  treasure,  but  did  not  succeed  in 
doing  so.  The  fact  that  their  respective  expeditions  are  said  to  have 
borne  an  immediate  sequel  of  disaster  and  death  for  both  alike,  may  be 
responsible  for  the  dramatist's  mistake. 

V,  iii,  131.     homicide — formerly,  as  here,  =  murderer. 

V,  iii,  139.    in  way  of — in  the  manner  of. 

V,  iii,  144.     the  hate  betweene  his  houfe  and  mine — cf.  Ill,  i,  416. 

V,  iii,  166.  more  prefumptions — C.,  f.  read  mere  presumptions,  which 
is  probably  correct.  An  alternative  possibihty  should  be  noted,  however: 
that  presumptions  by  mis-reading  from  the  Ms.  (or  by  the  mere  inversion 
of  a  u)  may  be  a  mis-print  for  presumptions  (presumptuous)  =  presump- 
tive, in  which  case  more  would  be  retained,  with  the  passage  to  mean: 
"You  must  find  other  proofs  to  strengthen  these,  and  they  must,  more- 
over, be  of  a  nature  to  give  more  reasonable  grounds  for  presumption." 

V,  iii,  174-5.— The  last  two  lines  of  Charalois'  speech  are  addressed  to 
his  judges;  what  preceded  them  to  Novall. 

V,  iii,  190.  bands — the  emendation  bawds,  proposed  by  Coxeter  and 
followed  by  all  subsequent  editors,  seems  almost  surely  correct.  "  Bawd  " 
prior  to  1700  was  a  term  applied  to  men  as  well  as — and,  indeed,  more  fre- 
quently than — to  women.     Cf.  Shakespeare,  Hamlet,  I,  iii,  130. 

V,  iii,  190.  tooke — where  the  common  Elizabethan  custom  of  dropping 
the  -en  inflectional  ending  of  the  past  participle  rendered  a  confusion 
with  the  infinitive  liable,  the  past  tense  of  the  verb  was  used  for  the 
participle.     Cf.  Abbott,  S.  G.,  §  343. 

V,  iii,  193.     this  matron — i.  e.,  Florimel. 

V,  iii,  205.    in  Nouall — i.  e.,  "  in  the  person  of  Novall." 

V,  iii,  207.  Th!y  challenge  now  I  anfwere — this  phrase  would  indicate 
that  Romont  crosses  swords  with  Pontalier,  and  after  a  moment  of 
fencing  runs  him  through;  instead  of  striking  him  unawares,  as  the 
modern  stage  direction,  "  Stabs  Pontalier,"  would  imply. 

V,  iii,  226.     thefe — i.  e.,  Aymer,  Florimel,  and  Bellapert. 


160  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

Court.  Song,  1.  3.  firft — i.  e.,  "  in  the  front  part  of,"  to  meet  the  cus- 
tomers and  be  herself  an  attraction  and  an  object  of  display,  while  the 
husband  remains  "at  tother  end"  (1.  8)  of  the  store. 

Court.  Song,  1.  4. — This  is  a  most  unduly  long  line.  It  seems  probable 
that,  in  the  Ms.  from  which  the  play  was  printed,  the  three  phrases,  "  A 
faire  wife,"  "a  kinde  wife,"  and  "a  fweet  wife,"  were  three  variant  read- 
ings, which,  by  mistake,  were  all  incorporated  in  the  text.  Any  one  of 
them  used  alone  would  give  a  perfectly  normal  line. 


GLOSSARY 

affection,  bent,  inclination,  penchant.     I,  ii,  32. 

allow,  command,  approve.     IV,  i,  9. 

anfwere,  correspond  to.     Ill,  i,  82. 

arrefts,  stoppages,  delays.     Ill,  i,  43. 

author,  to  be  the  authorynof  a  statement;  to  state,  declare,  say.    IV,  ii,  ig(- 

baffled,  disgraced,  treated  with  contumely.     IV,  i,  112. 

balm,  an  aromatic  preparation  for  embalming  the  dead.     II,  i,  79. 

band,  a  collar  or  ruff  worn  round  the  neck  by  man  or  woman.     II,  ii,  77; 

etc. 
banquerout,  early  spelling  of  bankrupt,  which  was  originally  banke  rota 

(see  N.  E.  D.  for  variants  under  bankrupt),  from  Italian  banca  rotta, 

of  which  banqueroute  is  the  French  adaptation.     The  modern  spelling, 

bankrupt,  with  the  second  part  of  the  word  assimilated  to  the  equivalent 

Latin  ruptus,  as  in  abrupt,  etc.,  first  appears  in  1543.     I,  i,  127;  ii,  88. 
black,  a  funereal  drapery.     II,  i,  51;  ii,  117. 
brabler,  a  quarrelsome  fellow;  a  brawler.     Ill,  i,  358. 
braue,  in  loose  sense  of  approbation,  good,  excellent,  worthy,  etc.     I,  ii, 

256;  292;  etc. 
bumfiddles,  beats,   thumps.     IV,  i,   140. 
cabinet,  a  secret  receptacle;  a  jewel-box.     II,  ii,  34. 

canniball,  a  strong  term  of  abuse  for  "  blood-thirsty  savage."     IV,  iv,  185. 
Caroch,  coach.     II,  ii,  28;  IV,  ii,  95. 
cafe,  exterior;  skin  or  hide  of  an  animal,  or  garments — hence,  perhaps, 

disguise.     V,  i,  73. 
cenfure,  a  judicial  sentence.    I,  ii,  53.    — in  the  sense  of  sentence  to  punish- 

nt.ent.    II,  ii   166;   172. 
chalenge,  demand.     V,  ii,  88. 

change,  exchange.     Ill,  i,  117.    — chang'd,  I.  i,  66. 
charges,  expenses.    I,  ii,  191. 

charitable,  benevolent,  kindly,  showing  Christian  charity.    I,  i,  117. 
circumjtance,  the  adjuncts  of  a  fact  which  make  it  more  or  less  criminal. 

V,  iii,  52. 
clofe,  close-fitting.     IV,  i,  124. 
cold,  unimpassioned,  deliberate.     V,  ii,  86. 
coloured,  specious.     Ill,  i,  139. 
comely,  becoming,  proper,  decorous.    Ill,  i,  163. 
complement,  observing  of  ceremony  in   social   relations;    formal   civility, 

politeness.    Ill,  i,  439. 
conference,  subject  of  conversation.     II,  ii,  139. 
confcious,  inwardly  sensible  of  wrong-doing.     Ill,   i,   353.    — aware.    V, 

ii,  67. 

161 


162  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

confifts,  lies,  has  its  place.     Ill,  i,  489. 

courtefie,  generosity,  benevolence.     V,  iii,  72>- 

Courtfhip,  courteous  behavior,  courtesy.     Ill,  i,  276;  439. 

credits,  reputations,  good  name.     I,  ii,  67. 

curiofity,  elegance  of  construction.     II,  ii,  67. 

curious,  careful,  studious,  solicitous.     IV,  i,  102.    — made  with  art  or  care; 

elaborately  or  beautifully  wrought;   fine;  "nice".     Cit.  Song.  1.  5. 
dag,  a  kind  of  heavy  pistol  or  hand-gun.     IV,  i,  170  .y.  d. 
debate,  strife,  dissension,  quarreling.     Ill,  i,  443. 
decent,  becoming,  appropriate,  fitting.     I,  ii,  yj. 
defeatures,  defeats.    I,  ii,  177. 

demonftrauely,  in  a  manner  that  indicates  clearly  or  plainly.     IV,  i,  55. 
deferued,  deserving.     II,  ii,  189. 
determine,  decree.     II,  ii,  172. 

detract,  disparage,  traduce,  speak  evil  of.     I,  ii,  271. 
dif-become,  misbecome,  be  unfitting  for  or  unworthy  of.     V,  iii,  47. 
difcouery,  revelation,  disclosure.    Ill,  i,  91 ;  V,  iii,  194. 
diftafte,  estrangement,  quarrel.     IV,  ii,   i.    — offence.    V,  iii,   15. 
doubtfull,  fearful,  apprehensive.     IV,  ii,  88. 
doubts,  apprehensions.     Ill,  i,  246. 
earth'd,  buried.    II,  i,  126. 

edify,  gain  instruction ;  profit,  in  a  spiritual  sense.    IV,  i,  62. 
engag'd,  obliged,  attached  by  gratitude.     Ill,  i,  242. 
engender,  copulate.     Ill,  i,  423. 
engine,  device,  artifice,  plot.    Ill,  i,  157. 
enfignes,  signs,  tokens,  characteristic  marks.     I,  i,  144. 
entertaine,  accept.     V,  ii,  82. 
entertainment,  provision  for  the  support  of  persons  in  service — especially 

soldiers;  pay,  wages.     I,  ii,  188. 
erneft,  a  sum  of  money  paid  as  an  installment  to  secure  a  contract.     V, 

i,  44. 
except  against,  take  exception  against.     IV,  iii,  19. 

exhauft,  "  draw  out " ;  not  as  to-day,  ''  use  up  completely."     II,  i,   103. 
expreffion,  designation.     V,  i,  33. 
factor,  one  who  has  the  charge  and  manages  the  affairs  of  an  estate ;  a 

bailiff,  land-steward.     I,   ii,    135.     Cf.  Shakespeare,  Henry  IV,  Part  I, 

III,  ii,  147 :  "  Percy  is  but  my  factor,"  etc. 
familiar,  well  acquainted.     I,  i,  3. 
feares,  fears  for.     IV,  ii,  89. 
fit,  punish;  visit  with  a  fit  penalty.     Ill,  i,  253. 
forefpake,  foretold,  predicted.     Ill,  i,  251. 
fortunes,  happens,  chances,  occurs.     V,  ii,  16. 
gallimaufry,  contemptuous  term  for  "  a  man  of  many  accomplishments  " ; 

a  ridiculous  medley;  a  hodge-podge.     II,  ii,  95. 
gamefters,  those  addicted  to  amorous  sport.     Ill,  i,  ZZ- 
Geometrician,  one  who  measures  the  earth  or  land;  a  land-surveyor.     IV, 

i,  21. 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY  163 

get,  beget.    I,  ii,  246. 

gigglet,  a  lewd,  wanton  woman.     Ill,  i,  308. 

honeftie,  honorable  character,  in  a  wide,  general  sense.  To  the  Elizabethan 
it  especially  connoted  fidelity,  trustiness.    II,  i,  115. 

horflock,  a  shackle  for  a  horse's  feet;  hence  applied  to  any  hanging  lock; 
a  padlock.    IV,  i,  78. 

humanity,  learning  or  literature  concerned  with  human  culture:  a  term 
including  the  various  branches  of  polite  scholarship,  as  grammar,"  rhet- 
oric, poetry,  and  esp.  the  study  of  the  ancient  Latin  and  Greek  classics. 

II,  i,  3. 

humour,  used  here  in  the  specific  Jonsonian  sense  of  a  dominating  trait 
or  mood.     I,  i,  124;  ii,  31. 

imployments,  services  (to  a  person).     I,  ii,  28. 

individually,  indivisibly,  inseparably.     II,  ii,  316. 

Infanta,  the  title  properly  applied  to  a  daughter  of  the  King  and  Queen 
of  Spain  or  Portugal.     IV,  i,  75, 

iffues,  actions,  deeds.     II,  ii,  198. 

kinde,  agreeable,  pleasant,  winsome.     Court.  Song.  1.  4. 

Lard,  an  obsolete  form  of  Lord.  IV,  i,  2.  Cf.  Congreve,  Old  Bach.,  II, 
iii :  "  Lard,  Cousin,  you  talk  oddly." 

League,  probably  used  for  Leaguer  (so  emended  by  M.,  f.)  :  a  military 
camp,  especially  one  engaged  in  a  siege.     Ill,  i,  175. 

learnd,  informed.     Ill,  i,  156. 

legge,  an  obeisance  made  by  drawing  back  one  leg  and  bending  the  other; 
a  bow,  scrape.    Ill,  i,  124. 

liuely,  living.  II,  i,  46.  — gay,  full  of  life.  II,  ii,  76..  — life-like.  II, 
i,  22,2. 

map,  embodiment,  incarnation,  II,  ii,  136.  Cf.  H.  Smith,  Sinf.  Man's 
Search,  Six  Sermons:  "What  were  man  if  he  were  once  left  to  him- 
self e?     A  map  of  misery." 

mome,  blockhead,  dolt,  fool.     Court.  Song,  1.  13. 

monument,  sepulchre.     I,  ii,  212. 

moue,  urge,  appeal  to,  make  a  request  to.     IV,  iv,  11. 

next,  shortest,  most  convenient  or  direct.     V,  i,  2)7- 

nice,  petty,  insignificant,  trifling.     Ill,  i,  442. 

note,  show  forth ;  demonstrate.     Ill,  i,  504.  - 

Obiect,  bring  forward  in  opposition  as  an  adverse  reason,  or  by  way  of 
accusation.     IV,  iv,  174. 

obnoxious,  liable,  exposed,  open,  vulnerable.     Ill,  i,  354. 

obfequious,  prompt  to  serve  or  please,   dutiful.     V,  iii,  90. 

obferuers,  those  who  show  respect,  deference,  or  dutiful  attention;  ob- 
sequious followers.    IV,  iv,  43. 

Orphants,  obsolete  corrupt  form  of  Orphans.  I,  ii,  206.  It  survives  in 
dialect.     Cf.  James  Whitcomb  Riley's  Little  Orphant  Annie. 


164  THE    FATAL   DOWRY 

ouercome,   usually,    "  conquer  ",    "  prevail  " ;    but   here,    "  out-do  ",    "  sur- 
pass".    I,  i,  187. 
parts,   function,   office,   business,    duty.     Formerly  used   in  the   plural,   as 

here,  though  usually  when  referring  to  a  number  of  persons.    I,  i,  9; 

ii,  9;  V.  iii,  39.    — qualities.     IV,  iv,  105. 
pious,  used  in  the  arch,  sense  of  dutiful.    I,  i,   loi. 
practicke,  practical  work  or  application;   practice   as  opposed  to  theory. 

II,  i,  2. 
Praecipuce    (mis-print   for  precipice),   a  precipitate   or   headlong   fall  or 

descent,  especially  to  a  great  depth.     Ill,  i,  464. 
prefently,  immediately,  quickly,  promptly.     IV,  iv,  89. 
prefident   [variant  of  precedent],   example,   instance,   illustration.     V,   iii, 

226. 
preuent,  anticipate.     I,  i,  64;  ii,  17;  IV,  ii,  32. 

Prouince,  duty,  office,  function;  branch  of  the  government.     I,  ii,  23. 
punctual,  punctilious,  careful  of  detail.     IV,  i,  42. 
purl,  the  pleat  or  fold  of  a  ruff  or  band;  a  frill.    II,  ii,  77. 
quick,  alive.     I,  ii,  178. 
Ram-heads,  cuckolds.     II,  i,  31. 
recent,  fresh.    II,  i,  19. 

roaring,  riotous,  bullying,  hectoring.     IV,  i,  203. 
jawcily,  formerly  a  word  of  more  serious  reprobation  than   in  modern 

usage :   "  with  presumptuous  insolence."     I,  ii,   106. 
fcandall,  to  spread  scandal  concerning;  to  defame.     I,  ii,  58. 
feet,  class,  order.     V,  i,  79. 
feene,  experienced,  versed.     Ill,  i,  268. 
feruant,  a  professed  lover;  one  who  is  devoted  to  the  service  of  a  lady. 

II,  ii,  40;  etc. 
feruice,  the  devotion  of  a  lover.     Ill,  i,  81 ;  IV,  iv,  107. 
fet  forth,  adorned.    IV,  iv,  106. 
skills,  signifies,  matters.     I,  i,  2S6. 
fnort,  snore.     Court.  Song.  1.  12. 
foft,  tender-hearted,  pitiful.     II,  i,  23. 

footh'd,  assented  to;  humoured  by  agreement  or  concesil^ion.     V,  i,  55. 
Spittle,  hospital.     Ill,  i,  210.     Cf.  Shakespeare,  Henry  V,  II,  i,  78;  V,  i,  86. 
fpleene,  caprice.     I,  i,  49. 

ftate,  estate.     II,  ii,  294;  III,  i,  24;  IV,  iv,  178;  V,  iii,  119. 
fuhmiffe,  submissive.     I,  i,  179. 
take,  charm,  captivate.     I,  ii,  206.  ,    • 

taske,  take  to  task ;  censure,  reprove,  chide,  reprehend  —  tax.     I,  ii,  64. 
temper,  temperateness,  calmness  of  mind,  self-restraint.     V,  iii,  40. 
theorique,  theory;  theoretical  knowledge,  as  opposed  to  practice.     II,  i,  2. 
Thrift,  here  used  in  the  old  sense  of  prosperity  or  success.    I,  i,  170. 
toyes,  whims,  caprices,  trifles.    Ill,  i,  442. 


THE    FATAL   DOWRY  165 

vncivil,  unrefined,  ill-bred,  not  polished.    Ill,  i,  490- 
vailes,  perquisites.    V,  i,  83. 
Vifitation,  visit.    II,  ii,  310. 

zuagtaile,  a  term  of  familiarity  and  contempt;  a  wanton.    II,  ii,  7. 
where,  whereas.    I,  i,  71. 

wittoU,  a  man  who  knows  of  his  wife's  infidelity  and  submits  to  it;  a  sub- 
missive cuckold.     V,  iii,  99. 
wreake,  vengeance,  revenge.    IV,  iv,  183;  V,  ii,  43. 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE 

The  Quarto,  and  the  various  modern  editions  and  translations 
of  The  Fatal  Dowry  have  already  been  recorded  in  the  opening 
pages  of  the  Introduction.  In  the  editions  there  noted  of  the 
collected  works  of  Massinger  will  be  found  all  the  plays  which 
bear  his  name.  {Believe  As  You  List  appears  only  in  Cunning- 
ham's edition  of  Gifford  and  in  the  Mermaid  Series'  Massinger.) 
Field's  two  independent  plays,  Woman  is  a  Weathercock  (Q. 
1612)  and  Amends  for  Ladies  (Q's.  1618,  1639),  were  reprinted 
by  J.  P.  Collier,  London,  1829.  They  are  included  in  Thomas 
White's  Old  English  Dramas,  London,  1830;  in  W.  C.  Hazlitt's 
edition  of  Dodsley's  Old  English  Plays,  London,  Reeves  and 
Turner,  1875;  ^^^  '^^  the  Mermaid  Series  volume,  Nero  and 
Other  Plays,  with  an  Introduction  by  A.  W.  Verity,  London  and 
New  York,  1888.  All  other  extant  dramas  in  which  either  Mas- 
singer  or  Field  had  a  share  may  be  found  in  any  edition  of  the 
collected  works  of  Beaumont  &  Fletcher,  with  the  exception  of 
Sir  John  van  Olden  Barnavelt,  which  appears  in  vol.  II  of  BuUen's 
Old  Plays,  London,  Weyman  and  Sons,  1883. 

The  stage  version  of  The  Fatal  Dozvry  by  Shell  is  printed  in 
French's  Acting  Edition,  vol.  9.  Of  the  related  plays.  The 
Lady's  Trial  and  The  Fair  Penitent  may  be  found  in  all  editions 
of  the  collected  works  respectively  of  John  Ford  and  Nicholas 
Rowe;  The  Fair  Penitent  is  also  published  along  with  Rowe's 
Jane  Shore  in  the  Belles  Lettres  Series,  1907.  For  The  In- 
solvent, see  The  Dramatic  Works  of  Aaron  Hill,  Esq.,  2  vols., 
1760.  DER  GRAF  VON  CHAROLAIS  ein  Trauerspiel  von 
Richard  Beer-Hofmann  is  printed  by  S.  Fischer,  Berlin,  1906. 

The  following  works  have  bearing  upon  the  play  or  its  authors : 
Beck,  C:  Phil.  Massinger,  THE  FATALL  DOWRY.     Einlei- 

tung  zu  einer  neuen  Ausgabe.     Beyreuth,  1906. 
Boyle,  R. :  Beaumont,  Fletcher  and  Massinger.     Englische  Stu- 

dien,  vol.  V. 
Cambridge  History  of  English  Literature,  The, — vol.  VI. 

Cambridge,  1910. 
Courthope,  W.  J. :  A  History  of  English  Poetry,  vol.  IV.     Mac- 

millan,  1903. 

166 


THE    FATAL    DOWRY  167 

Cumberland:  His  famous  comparison  of  The  Fatal  Dowry  with 
The  Fair  Penitent,  which  originally  appeared  in  The  Observer, 
Nos.  LXXVII-LXXIX,  is  reprinted  in  Gififord's  Edition  of 
Massinger. 

Dictionary  of  National  Biography — Field,  by  J.  Knight; 
Massinger,  by  R.  Boyle. 

Fleay,  F.  G. :  ^  Biographical  Chronicle  of  the  English  Drama 
(i^jg-1642).     2  vols.     London.     Reeves  and  Turner.     1891. 
Annals  of  the  Caneer  of  Nathaniel  Field.    Englische  Studien, 
vol.  XIII. 

Genest,  John :  Some  Account  of  the  English  Stage  from  the 
Restoration  in  1660  to  1830.     10  vols.     Bath,  1832. 

Gosse,  E.  W. :  The  Jacobean  Poets.  (Univ.  Series).  Scribner's, 
1894. 

Koeppel,  E. :  Qnelenstiidien  zii  den  Dramen  George  Chapman's, 
Philip  Massinger' s  und  John  Ford's.     Strassburg.     1897. 

Murray,  John  Tucker:  English  Dramatic  Companies  {1558- 
1642).     2  vols.     Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.     1910. 

Oliphant,  E.  F. :  The  Works  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  Eng- 
lische Studien,  vols.  XIV-XVI.  [This  is  not  concerned  with 
The  Fatal  Dowry,  but  contains  inquiry  into  other  collaboration 
work  of  Massinger  and  Field  in  plays  of  the  period,  with  an 
analysis  of  the  distinctive  characteristics  of  Massinger  (XIV, 
71-6)  and  the  same  for  Field  (XV,  330-1).] 

Phelan,  James :  On  Philip  Massinger.  Halle.  1878.  Reprinted 
in  Anglia,  vol.  II,  1879. 

Schelling,  F.  E. :  Elizabethan  Drama.  2  vols.  Houghton,  Mifflin 
&  Co.     1908. 

Schwarz,  F.  H. :  Nicholas  Rowe's  FAIR  PENITENT.  A  Con- 
tribution to  Literary  Analysis.  With  a  Side-reference  to  Rich- 
ard Beer-Hofmann's  Graf  von  Charolais.     Berne.     1907. 

Stephens,  Sir  Leslie :  Philip  Massinger.  The  Cornhill  Magazine. 
Reprinted  in  JJours  in  a  Library,  Third  Series.     1879. 

Swinburne,  A.  C. :  Philip  Massinger.  The  Fortnightly  Review, 
July,  1889. 

Thorndike,  Ashley  H. :  Tragedy.    Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.    1908. 

Ward,  A.  W. :  A  History  of  English  Dramatic  Literature.  3 
vols.     Macmillan.     1899. 

Wurzbach,  W.  von :  Philip  Massinger.  Shakesp.  Jahrb.,  vols. 
XXXV  and  XXXVI. 


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